


I Really Messed Up, Guys: A Supernatural Self Harm Fic

by nothisispaige



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DBT, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, Lucifer - Freeform, Recovery, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Self Harm, Sister!winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural imagine, Therapy, castiel - Freeform, self injury, supernatural fan fiction, supernatural story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:58:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 63,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothisispaige/pseuds/nothisispaige
Summary: TW: SELF HARM IS DEPICTED. DO NOT READ IF EASILY TRIGGERED. It is acted out in one of the chapters, when it's up I'll put a warning at the beginning so it can be skipped over and add a summary of what happened at the start of the next chapter.Also if you need help or distractions for ANY mental illnesses or behaviors please text GO to 741741. I've done it several times and they're really great people.Casey is Sam and Dean's younger sister. She's 15 years old, 10 years younger than Sam and 14 from Dean, and has been on the hunt with the boys her entire life, but struggles with depression and is currently in a battle with self harm, but the boys don't know and she's terrified for them to find out. Will they lock her up? Will Dean scream at her? She hopes she doesn't find out...This work was originally posted on my Wattpad account under the same name, but I got a request to post it here too. I'll finish posting soon, I'm just making minor edits (grammar, phrasing, continuity, chapter names I don't like, etc..) as I work my way through posting! Thank you for reading and please comment and like or whatever you do on Ao3 (I've never really used this before soooo...)! :)





	1. Shit

Casey pulled her sleeves down over her palms; she loved having little hoodie mittens. It was also a good backup in case something went wrong so they wouldn't slide up. That would be bad news bears. Casey couldn't even think of what Sam would say, and she would about die if Dean found out. Sam was logical, precise. Dean went with his gut and would rather yell first and apologize later than trying to understand from the beginning. He wouldn't admit it, but Dean was a sensitive guy. Sam was too, obviously, but he managed it better. He always thought through things practically before registering emotions about a situation.

Dean was humming along to one of the four tapes he had, this one was Survivor. Casey knew he was waiting for the climax of the cassette and was amping himself up for "Eye of the Tiger". The further he would get down the tape the more fidgety he would get. His tell was when he'd start bobbing his head. It would start small at first, hardly noticeable, but soon it would escalate into full on firm nodding. Next would come the bouncing of his left knee, which always made her anxious while he was driving. After knee bouncing came tapping on the wheel; he would start with the simple beat and eventually make his way past the bass line until he was tapping the melody on the vintage wheel. Sam found it annoying, but he was in the passenger seat so he had to "shut his cakehole and deal with it." Soon it would be humming, then mouthing the lyrics quietly under his breath. He would be bubbling with anticipation by the time "Eye of the Tiger" finally came on. Sometimes he'd sing along, although he couldn't sing for the life of him. He said the ability to sing didn't matter when it was one of your favorite songs, it was a God given right to sing along anyway. More often than not, though, he would lip sync passionately while staring in the rearview mirror at Casey to make her laugh.

Today was a singing day apparently. His song came on and all of a sudden there was a deep voice trying to sing much higher than it should have been. Sam was so used to it that his smooth stream of light snoring didn't even falter. Casey looked in the mirror at Dean bobbing and swiveling his head back and forth and let out a tiny giggle, he was so lost in his own little music video he didn't notice how intensely he was enjoying himself. Dean's eyes flicked up to meet Casey's and he increased his volume and pumped his shoulders while snaking his head back and forth to the rhythm. Casey grinned up at him and began to sing along while breaking out her own corny dance moves.

Sam's eyes opened finally and he looked back at his little sister and groaned. "Not you too," he whined. Casey twisted to point directly at Sam and spun her finger in a spiral and poked his nose on the word "tiger". He brushed her hand away and looked at his brother. "Where are we now?"

Dean shrugged. "Kentucky, I think. Shut up, you're ruining my solo." Sam rolled his eyes and looked out his window. Casey stopped dancing and smiled, feeling content. These were her brothers. Smart, sweet Sam and protective, wise ass Dean. They were the best family in the world. Castiel was also pretty cool, even if he wasn't around as much.

Casey rolled down the window and leaned her head into the breeze. The car was stifling, what with Sam's snoring and the seventy-seven degree weather and a lack of air conditioning. Dean turned his head back towards her and cleared his throat.

"You hustling for gas tonight, sister?" Casey shook her head and frowned. "Then roll up the window." Dean was so protective of his baby, but it also didn't help that they were running on about nineteen dollars until they could hustle up some pool money at a bar.

"Dean, it's hot," Casey whined. She pulled up her puppy dog eyes and pushed her lower lip out some.

"Then take off your sweater," Dean replied in the same tone Casey had used, over dramatizing and dragging out the end.

"Dean, come on, man," Sam interjected. "It is hot in here and I don't feel like stripping for you."

Dean turned towards his brother. "Shotgun shuts his cakehole." He glanced back at his sister again and added, "And backseat rolls up the window."

Casey rolled her eyes and turned the handle until the window was all the way shut, effectively sealing in the warmth from the sun as well as the body heat and unfavorable sweat smell of the three hot passengers. "Dean?"

"Yes?" he asked without looking back, although she could see his satisfied smirk.

"You suck," she said bluntly.

Sam was throwing back an energy shot when Casey said this and choked on a laugh. Chalky colored liquid spilled down his chin and onto his white undershirt but he didn't care. He continued his chortle loudly and Casey looked at Dean smartly, who had a scowl on his face.

"Whatever," he grumbled and turned back to driving.

After Sam cooled down and gave Casey an approving look, he reached into the backpack between his legs and pulled out a book she assumed was non-fiction. Casey would never understand that. Books were made for escaping reality, settling into another world where numerous things you'd never think were possible were possible. That was a rare thing for her. In a hunter's world you dealt with the make believe, so when she was able to find a book that could actually take her to another place it was a dream come true. They were hard to come by, but they did exist. Sam made sure every Christmas he would give her as many books as he could afford. They were all used, but Casey didn't mind. The ridiculous amount of money he could spend on a couple new books was money that could be spent on even more used books. He would painstakingly research books she might like online and spend several hours in thrift stores or used bookstores skimming through countless titles for her, analyzing plots and points of views and the way each author wrote just to make sure he picked out the perfect ones. It drove Dean crazy, but Sam was adamant. He knew exactly the types of books Casey liked and would find them. They didn't have a lot of money and rarely had a lot of time, but Sam made sure to do that for her every year. She was so young; he wanted to make sure she knew she had the same love and devotion a normal family would give her too, just on a tighter budget and in a slightly unconventional way. And every year Casey was grateful to the point of tears when she would unwrap four or five dingy, yellow paged books. And as she dove into them and discovered, once again, that he'd picked out absolutely wonderful stories for her to read she would be overcome with appreciation again.

It was July though and Christmas was not even in her range of thinking, so she had nothing good to read. Casey only kept two or three books with her on the road and stored the rest of them at Bobby's. This last stretch of hunting though Casey had practically memorized all three tales, so she settled for sitting quietly and gazing out the windows while trying to think of all the different ways lyrics from the songs playing could be interpreted. The sun was hurting her eyes some and it also was not helping the heat in the car, but they worked so often at night or in dark motels that every ray she was able to get felt like a kiss from God, so she rolled up her sleeves and let her skin be tanned through the glass, reveling in the steady engine noises and the feeling of travelling across an unknowable amount of land in summer daylight. There wasn't much peace in her life, but sometimes the timing was just right and even her brain felt calm.

"Hey, Casey, are you thinking diner or Chinese buffet?" Sam twisted from his book to ask her after passing a sign. She took a moment to assess the state of hunger she was in and told him she'd decided buffet. Sam gave her a smile and turned to his brother. "That's what I thought too. You heard her, Dean. Happy Moon Buffet it is." Dean groaned and Sam turned back to Casey with a smile. She peeled her arms from the window and folded them on her lap.

"How far away is it?" she asked.

"The sign said 6 miles but-" the end of Sam's sentence cut off abruptly and Casey tilted her head at him. He was staring down towards her pants looking terrified, like a demon had just crawled out of her pockets. She looked down and realized in horror that Sam wasn't looking at her pockets like she'd originally thought.

He was looking at her arms.

Sam pulled his lips into a tight line and swallowed dry and looked back up at his sister. He could see the fear in her eyes and she could see the heartbreak in his.

"Casey, what-," he started, but Casey cut him off.

"Six miles? So like less than ten minutes? Thank God. I'm starving. That's the best part about buffets. You never have to wait for your food to come, you just go up and get it. I know Castiel would disagree, but gluttony is my favorite sin." Casey knew she was babbling, but she needed Sam to think about something else, and she needed Dean to not know that anything was going on. She couldn't have Dean know. He would kill her.

"Jeez, Case. You're going about a mile a minute. I'm hungry too but damn," Dean commented from the front lightheartedly. He was completely oblivious.

Sam was staring at her arms, analyzing more closely now, and looked up at her like he was going to start talking again. Casey pulled her sleeves down and shook her head so subtly that Sam almost missed it. She looked at his face, it was pale with worry and staring at her back. "Please?" she mouthed and flicked her eyes towards Dean's seat, shaking her head. She made her eyes pleading. "Please, don't tell him." Sam pulled his head towards Dean's chair slightly but he paused and shifted back into looking at his little sister. "Please?" Her eyes were filling with tears as she silently begged him to keep her secret. He looked at her sweater sleeves and back up to her again and gave one firm nod. Sam turned back in his seat, looking dead ahead. He pulled out his phone and typed for a long moment, pausing every couple of words and thinking his wording out thoroughly, before shoving it harshly back in his pocket. He didn't want to scare her, but she needed to understand how serious he was. Casey's phone vibrated.

"I won't tell Dean, but I expect you to soon. I'll be there if you want, but he has to know. You and I are going to talk about this though. Tonight. If you won't I'm telling Dean and he will make you talk about it." His text ended with a little heart emoticon. Casey felt her emotions dart in a million directions all at once. She was relieved he'd agreed not to tell Dean, but upset he was going to try to make her. She was sad because her secret was now between two people instead of just her. She felt anxious because Sam wanted to talk about it and she really did not. But mainly Casey felt scared because she knew Sam was going to want to look and she knew that her privacy and personal space was gone for good now. And that thought made her sick to her stomach.


	2. I Really Messed Up, Sam

It had been hours since they'd eaten. Casey was never really sure why she'd always think Chinese buffets sounded good. They sounded wonderful in theory, but every time she'd gone to one the food was just dry and disappointing and usually tasted or looked like they'd been sitting out for far longer than the FDA would be okay with.

Casey flopped down heavily onto the motel bed at twelve-thirty in the morning. She knew it didn't make sense to be tired, considering she'd just spent 13 hours sitting in a car, but her legs felt like jello, and laying starfished out on a bed (that she knew was crappy in reality) was heavenly. If the brothers asked her to hop back into the Impala even just to grab some drinks at a gas station she thought she might cry. I'd rather die of dehydration than get back into that thing tonight, she thought.

"Scoot over. You know the drill. Pick a bed, any bed!" Dean said in his best magician voice and dropped his duffle in the triangle between her arm and leg.

Casey grimaced. "How come I never get to sleep in my own bed? Why can't you two share a bed for once?

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean spoke first. "Because he's about ten stories tall and I'm about eight."

"Yeah," Sam interjected, "Also, he smells terrible. Whereas you smell like that dollar store cotton candy perfume you carry around. It's a little nauseating, sure, but it's better than Dean's armpit stank any day." Sam winked at you and you stuck your tongue out at him.

"I'll sleep in this bed tonight." She did not feel like moving.

"Yes!" Sam punched both his fists in the air and almost hit the ceiling. Casey was almost positive that if he struck it that the ceiling would not be able to hold up and the tenants above would fall in on them. And she did not want to even consider thinking about what they could be doing in such a seedy motel. Casey was also pretty sure that if she'd had a black light she would run out of the room screaming and drive Dean's baby away herself, jello legs be damned.

"Really feelin' the love there, Sammy," she said dryly.

Sam's face turned red. "You know what I meant. I don't- I mean I meant that- uh.. I'm ten stories tall! I need my own bed!" he stumbled out, gripping his head with both hands in frustration.

Casey grinned. "Cool it, SamBam. I'm just picking on you." Sam gave her a frustrated look.

"Well, I for one love my little Casey Wacy, don't I, Cassandra?" Dean leaned in close to her face and ruffled up her hair with one hand.

Casey smiled widely at him, inhaled deeply, and blew an obnoxious, wet raspberry right in his face. "It's Casey, thank you very much."

Dean was not amused in the least bit and wiped his face with his hand to smear off whatever spit on it onto Casey's hoodie. "Anyway, brat, I saw a bar a couple blocks away. Easy walking distance and it's nice out. Wanna get some food? I could go for a couple beers after that drive."

Casey shrugged. "I think I'll stay here. Catch up on some non-cable TV, you know?"

Dean nodded and turned towards Sam.

"No, thanks. I've got some cases I want to research. Free wi-fi here too."

"Suit yourself. I'll see you guys in about eight beers. Call if you need anything." Dean tossed the car keys on the bed in case the two needed to run out to grab something and walked out, closing the door tightly. Completely unconcerned.

"Will do, captain!" She saluted to no one. Casey's heart started to race. Neither of them had eaten in ten or so hours. She was sure he would go out with Dean. Sam always had a beer after a long drive. Why didn't he go with? She knew why he didn't go with, which was truly the worst part. He wanted to talk. Casey's stomach tightened and she pushed her face down into the mattress, praying that Sam wouldn't see her escalating breathing. This couldn't happen. She couldn't talk about this. It was private. Her body, her choice, right? That's what everyone said, right? What she did to her body was her own damn business. Sam had no right, not a single right, to ask questions or yell at her about any of it. It was private, and Casey intended to keep it that way.

Sam, however, did not.

"Casey, take off your sweater," he said, no emotion in his voice. It wasn't a question.

Her breathing picked up even more and she shook her head into the mattress. She was close to a full blown panic attack. This is private, Sammy, please.

"It's not a request. Just take off your sweater. I'm not going to be mad, I swear. I just need to see. You've never been the best judge of wounds, especially your own." His voice softened. "Please, Case Face. I just need to check them out really quickly, okay?"

"They're fine," she mumbled into the sheets. She was hyperventilating now and she prayed to God Sammy would just leave her alone.

Casey's shoulders were moving rapidly. Sam sat on the bed and placed a hand on her back. He realized she was gasping for air. She wasn't suffocating though. No, this was different. This was panicking. Sam tugged on her shoulder in an attempt to pull her up. It'd be easier for her to breathe when her mouth and nose weren't covered. "Casey, honey, come on. You gotta get outta there, Case. You can't breathe," Sam said, attempting to sound calm. He pulled on both her shoulders but she jerked down and used her dead weight against him. "Honey, you're scaring me. You need to get out. I'm not gonna take your sweater off, Casey. I just want you to come up and get more air." He noticed her hands bunch up into fists. It was a trait she'd learned from Dean when she was having a duel in her head. "Casey, please," he pleaded. He tugged on her shoulder gently. He was surprised when she didn't pull back from him again. He grabbed her other shoulder and pulled her up gently. As soon as her face left the mattress she inhaled in a deep, loud gasp. Her eyes were wide and dry and she gulped for air like she was drowning. Sam twisted her so she sat on his lap and rubbed her back.

"Case," he said simply. She pressed one fist against her forehead and he felt her other hand searching. It settled on top of his and he wrapped his hand around her much smaller fist. She pulled back the tiniest bit, but when he kept rubbing her back with no movements to take off her sweater she relaxed her hand into his. Her shoulders shook and Sam's heart broke. He'd scared her this bad. He just wanted to make sure his little sister was alright and check her arms and talk to her. "Okay. Breathe in for five, hold for five, and then breathe out for five. Try it. It helps get your lungs back on track, okay? In for five." Casey drew in a slow shaky breath that took a lot longer than five seconds, but it was the fact that she did it that mattered to Sam. "Hold it." She pinched her lips between her teeth and closed her eyes, her neck tensing more and more with each count. "Good. Okay, now let it out." Sam squeezed her hand and Casey let all her breath out in half a second and hiccuped. "Okay, a couple more times, sweetie. Okay?" She nodded slightly, Sam only noticed because her head was pressed against his shoulder. "In for five. Okay, hold. Now let go slowly. That's really great, Casey. A couple more times."

Sam walked her through it at least fifteen more times. Holding her hand tightly and encouraging her throughout each cycle. Her face gradually turned a more natural color. After about ten minutes her breathing was almost completely normal, save for a few hiccups here and there. Her eyes weren't so unnaturally wide anymore and her muscles relaxed, the hand he held that was once a fist was now resting on her thigh, trembling lightly. Her entire body still shook, but she could breathe, which is what really mattered to him. He wrapped his arm around her and held her tight, almost like he was afraid she might die if he didn't get her close enough.

Casey was afraid to look up at Sam. She didn't want to see his face. He'd remained collected while counting for her, but she could hear how pained and tight his voice was the entire time. Casey had broken his heart and she knew it. The guilty feeling made her stomach lurch a bit and she folded her arms against herself. This was all too much. Casey needed to get out. She needed to be alone. She needed to cut. Casey attempted to pull away from his chest but Sam pulled her in even tighter. He was much stronger than Casey. There would be no pulling away.

"No, honey. Let me be here for you. It's okay," he murmured quietly and kissed the top of her head. "What else are big brothers for, right?" Sam force a light chuckle. The corner of her lip pulled up some in appreciation of his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I don't know, but I do know it's not much," she mumbled and smirked.

"Hey!" Sam hit her knee lightly with his free arm. "We aren't so bad. Little sisters though, ugh!" Sam threw his head back to flip his hair dramatically. Casey rolled her eyes and playfully punched him back.

"Brat."

"You're the brat, Case Face."

"Whatever, Samuel."

"It's Sam." He stuck his tongue out at her. She'd never understood why he was so adamant about that. Samuel wasn't even that bad of a name. A little bit formal, sure, but not a bad name. Then again, when people called her Cassandra it took a lot of effort to un-clench her fist.

They sat peacefully for a little bit. Casey's hiccups stopped and she was hardly shaking anymore, and the shaking that remained was caused by anxiety, not a panic attack. For that she was grateful. Sam loosened his hug and started rubbing her back some more. Casey tensed, she knew what he was doing and started to pull away.

"Casey," he pled quietly, almost as a sigh. He sounded so defeated and hurt. Casey drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "Casey, please. I know... I know you don't want to. I know. I don't want to see them either. Hell, I don't want them to be there in the first place. I would give anything for them not to be. But they're there and I need to make sure they'll be okay. I know. It sucks. But please, Case. I'm begging here, kid. I need to see your arms."

For the first time since he pulled her in his arms she looked up at his face. He looked back down at her. His eyes were sad and he looked exhausted. She supposed he was. He pulled up the corner of his lip and gave her a sad smile. "I won't be mad, Casey. I promise. I just want to check. You can put it back on right after. It'll take two seconds, three tops." His face was sincere. Casey trusted him. She knew he wasn't lying. He would never make her sit with her shameful arms out in the open just because. He was sweet. He also had a sense of professionalism. She knew he would be quick and clinical about it. He wouldn't do the cheesy "oh, let me kiss your cuts for you and count your scars so I know how many times I wasn't there for you blah blah blah." He would look, fix up anything that needed fixing, and let you cover back up again. Sam was honest, he would never try to hurt her. Shouldn't she be honest too?

Casey looked back down and felt her lips pull down. She tried to keep them in a neutral position, but she knew that once her lips were down they were down until she was done crying. "Sammy," she whispered. The tears began collecting. She turned her head toward the wall and looked up, trying to blink back tears. She. Would. Not. Cry. Winchesters didn't cry, dammit. When looking up didn't work she squeezed her eyes tight to the point where she was beginning to give herself a headache. "Sam." This time it was more of a strained exhale, almost inaudible.

"Casey," he said softly.

"Sammy, it's really bad." She could feel herself beginning to panic again but started doing Sam's breathing exercise. It didn't help her feel less panicked, she noticed, but it kept her breathing normal and consistent. "It's really bad, Sam. I screwed up so bad. You can't tell Dean, Sam. He'll kill me." Casey buried her face into her big brother's chest. There was no stopping her tears anymore. It started off with one short sob, but she then quickly dissolved into his t-shirt. She clenched it with tight fists. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry. I really messed up, Sam. I really, really messed up. It wasn't supposed to get this bad. I was gonna stop but then I couldn't anymore. Sam, I messed up so bad. Sam," she sobbed, soaking his shirt.

Sam was surprised, he wasn't expecting her to cave into herself. He stiffened at first. He wasn't really sure what to do, but he relaxed his body and ran his hand over her hair and messed with the end of her ponytail. She used to love that when she was little. He would twirl it around in his hand because it would make her giggle during the day and wound her down to sleep at night. One of those weird little quirks, he supposed. "It's okay. It's okay. Hey, we all mess up. Remember, Dean went to Hell. I drank demon blood. You still love us, don't you? Well, maybe don't answer that," he ventured. He was hoping bad jokes might make her less nervous. He was right; her fists relaxed around his shirt some. She was still crying steadily, but Sam knew if he had her stop crying now she would start up again later, which didn't seem fair, but it was a tough subject. It hurt. When things hurt people cry. That was just the way it was.

She sobbed onto him to the point where his shirt was too uncomfortably wet to even cry against anymore. She pulled back and saw an enormous patch that completely ruined his shirt for the night and, in her hysterics, she began laughing at it.

"Oh, ha ha. Yeah, laugh at the human tissue," he teased. It was so nice to see her smile. Even with her eyes bloodshot and her face flushed and tear stained. Her smile lit up the room. It reminded Sam of her face when he would gush over scribbles she'd made for him on road trips. She would squeal with joy and had him the paper while she got out a new one to work on her next masterpiece and the cycle would continue all over again.

How had they gotten here?

He waited until she'd stopped laughing and was sitting on his lap again with an empty expression, tears streaming down her face while she didn't make a sound.

"Casey," he sighed.

She already knew what he was getting at. She looked up at him. "It's really bad, Sam. I screwed up bad. Please, no."

Both her and Sam knew that would be her last attempt at trying to get him to change his mind. She was exhausted and didn't want to fight anymore.

"Dean's gonna be back soon. May as well get it over with," he suggested. He tried to sound optimistic, but, with the situation they were in, optimism was a bit of a ways away.

"Sam," she whispered one last time.

"Yeah?" he whispered back, trying to stay on the same level as her so she didn't get scared and shut down. He didn't want to get Dean involved, but if Casey wouldn't bite he would not hesitate to call in their big brother. He knew that would break her heart and kill the trust he was working so hard to build with her. But her safety came before trust, and Casey had a history of hiding the severity of her injuries. They had a store of antibiotics in the first aid kit just in case she pulled it without them noticing she was injured in the first place.

Casey mumbled something, speaking so low he couldn't hear.

Sam hated to ask her to repeat, but there was no way he could decipher what she said. "Could you repeat that a little louder, Case?" He gave her a sympathetic look.

Casey drew her knees so close to her chest she could feel her lungs were unable to accomplish a complete inhale. She rested her head on her legs and took a deep breath. "I said," she paused one last time, knowing she really didn't want to disclose, but also knowing she didn't have a choice. She spoke very clearly, each word forced past her lips with great effort. It created a choppy, harsh sentence, but was easily understood. "They aren't. Just. On my. Arms. Sam." Casey exhaled so hard she was surprised Sam's hair hardly even budged.

Sam didn't move besides continuing to twirl the bottom of her ponytail. Casey looked up but his face was unreadable. He was staring at the ugly, stained carpet with a very focused look. His jaw was set and his lips were tight. His brow was furrowed slightly, but not in an angry way. No, Sam looked more thoughtful. Frustrated by all means, but thoughtful.

"Sam?" Casey croaked out.

Sam's head snapped towards her again. His jaw was clenched. He looked like he was in pain, but his baby sister was talking, so he was going to listen. She was being more honest than he'd even asked for. Casey was such a good girl, he couldn't understand why these feelings had to happen to her. She saved lives in her spare time, for crying out loud. She had no friends her own age and did her schoolwork online so she could keep saving lives. She could have been a normal girl living at Bobby's going to normal school where she could have normal friends and boyfriends. The poor girl couldn't even have a prom. Why did she have to get struck with so much self-hatred she destroyed her body just so she could feel better? She was so good. Casey didn't deserve any of this pain.

Sam swallowed hard and looked at his sister's dark green eyes. Her eyes had always looked more like Dean's, but her being five foot seven at age fifteen and darker brown hair showed her relation to Sam as well. She was a Winchester. He looked down at her feet on his right thigh, her toes curled tightly together with blue nail polish accenting the tips, it was so innocent, like she should be. Young and happy and innocent, with blue nail polish. Sam exhaled and swallowed again, but his entire mouth was dry, making it almost painful. He looked up at Casey through his eyelashes, almost as if he was afraid to see her entire face, and quietly but firmly asked, "Where?"

Casey's toes clenched tighter. If she could draw her knees any closer into her abdomen they might meld into each other.

"Everywhere, Sammy." She couldn't bring her voice up very loudly, but she knew he'd heard by the way his shoulders stiffened. He rolled them back tightly, like he always did when he was trying to gather himself, and cleared his throat a couple times before speaking again.

"Casey, I need to see them." His voice startled her. It was so firm. It reminded her of their father, strict and no room or patience for questioning orders. She looked up at him. His jaw was firm and his face was hard and showed no emotions, another John Winchester trait he must've picked up. He looked directly into her eyes and she squeezed herself out of his arms. She didn't want to be anywhere near him with that face. She scooched back until her shoulders hit the headboard and she gasped quietly. There was no other choices. It was either show Sam now or be pinned down by Dean while he looked for himself. And Dean couldn't know. Casey's thoughts ran a mile a minute. She didn't realize how much time had passed until she heard Sam's angry voice again. "Casey, now."

Her eyes grew wide and she pulled the zipper down her front. Sam could see her hands shaking and his eyes softened again. He looked like himself again.

"It's okay, kid. I'm not gonna judge you, okay?" Sam turned and knelt in front of her on the bed. He took one of her hands in his large ones and she nodded. He grabbed the edge of her sleeve with his other hand and looked up at her for permission. Casey nodded again and Sam gently pulled the sleeve down her arm before doing the same with the other. He didn't look at them yet though. He took both her hands now and looked back into her eyes. There was so much fear in them. She was afraid of him. That hurt his heart, but he was not going to let that show. He would let all his worry and adoration for his little sister show though. She pulled her lower lip back and bit it anxiously. "Hey, I know this sucks. It really, really sucks. But I love you. I'm not gonna hurt you or judge you or be mad, alright? All I want to do is make sure you're healing up well. That's it." Sam gave her a soft smile and she nodded one last time before he looked at her arms.


	3. Dramatic Weapons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM DESCRIBED/ACTED OUT IN THIS SECTION. 
> 
> If you get triggered by these sorts of things please skip to the next chapter. I'll put a summary of what happened at the beginning of the next chapter so you don't miss anything.

 

 _Holy shit_ , Sam thought, although he refused to let his face give away any emotion. He remained cool while he checked each scab and scar like he promised.

 _He's taking this really well, just like I knew he would. Clinical, calm Sam._  Casey was so ashamed of herself. Of her arms. She was ashamed of her entire body. She'd destroyed it with her own hands. Sure, there were scars from the few hunts she was allowed on and from the regular injuries of life. She had a scar on her foot from falling out of a tree. That's what kids did, they got hurt. But they weren't supposed to hurt themselves. And if falling out of a tree had caused all of her scars she was pretty sure she'd be either a quadriplegic, or dead.

Sam looked up. "A lot of these should've had stitches, Casey." He touched a particularly thick scar with his finger. Maybe a minute had passed and he was already done.

"I know," she stated simply. She did know, but there was no way she would ever have gone to get them treated so she didn't really give it a second thought, although there were several times she could remember being grateful for their healthy collection of amoxicillin.

"Some of these need to be treated," he mumbled, to Casey's horror. "Okay, now the rest, please." Casey's head snapped up. The rest? Sam must've understood her look of confusion because he nodded and said "The rest of them, I mean. The rest of your... uh... injuries." He didn't want to call them anything that would make her feel ashamed, but he did need to get his point across. Casey's eyes widened and she rolled out from under Sam and backed away from the bed, pulling her sweatshirt with her.

"No. That wasn't what we agreed upon. No." Her eyes grew frantic. Her older brother was not seeing her like that. It was hard enough letting him see her arms, but her entire messed up body? No way, Jose. That was not something that would fly, and most certainly was not part of the deal beforehand.

Sam stood up and took a few steps forward. He made sure he didn't get too close though. This time around things were even more sensitive. There was no good way to say, "hey! Strip down to your undies in front of your good ole brother so he can check to make sure you aren't getting too adventurous in your self injurious endeavors." It needed to be handled delicately. He wasn't quite sure how exactly he would work that out, but he was determined. "Case, please? I was so quick before. I'll be quick this time too," he promised.

Her eyes filled with tears. "No! You said you would check my arms and we'd be done. You are not seeing the rest. They're fine. I'm fine. Leave me alone. Please," she cried out. She pulled her hoodie tightly to her chest.

"Casey, come on. Real fast, I just need to see-" Sam began, but Casey cut him off.

"No, Samuel! Leave me the fuck alone!" Casey slid against the wall, inching her way towards the door. Just in case.

Now that royally pissed him off. She could see her mistake from the immediate change in his eyes. They were dark and hard. There was no soft brother there anymore. Just anger. Casey hadn't meant to do that, she just wanted to make him understand she was serious. She didn't want him anywhere near her and needed to show him that it was time to drop the subject. But now Sam was angry and it was her fault. Casey slipped closer to the door. She was pretty sure she was going to utilize it sooner rather than later.

"Cassandra Elizabeth, you will show me what you did to yourself or, so help me God, I will call Dean and Castiel to come and hold you down. Either way, they're getting checked. Your choice, _Case_." He hissed her nickname and moved toward her again, this time with determined steps.

Casey slid across the wall and felt for the door knob. She turned the lock and as she opened the door she felt Sam's hand swipe across her shoulder, trying to keep her in the motel room. She whipped her face around and shouted, "No!" towards Sam's seething figure and ran away. Stupid? Yes. But Sam couldn't see the extent of what she'd done. Nobody could see that. She would die before anybody saw. She knew it was a terrible idea to run out alone in the dark at almost two a.m., especially as a skinny fifteen year old girl, but she figured she would be okay for at least one night. She had a silver dagger in her boot and was trained in hand-to-hand combat. Hell, she'd taken down grown men twice her size. She would be okay. Then tomorrow she would call Bobby and he would pick her up and take her away from her brothers. She was sure Dean would know what had happened between her and Sam within the hour. She felt even more sure that Sam had already called him and snitched on her, but that didn't matter. She was small and in dark clothes already and was particularly skilled at climbing trees if need be. She was as lost as a diamond in the ocean to them.

After running what she thought was probably around three miles, Casey slowed down and surveyed the area. She could see the lights from a couple houses some ways away, but otherwise it was just her and the trees. She found a tree that had a cozy looking dip between two giant roots and sat in it, leaning into the tree. She was exhausted. Casey tilted her head back and caught her breath. It had been such a crappy day.

After sitting in the trees for fifteen minutes, her phone vibrated. Casey got a sickening feeling in her stomach. What had she done?

Sam was so mad when she left. He was scaring her. She knew he she'd frustrated him and that he was already upset in the first place, but after she called him Samuel he'd completely become a different person. She'd only seen Sam really mad like that maybe twice in her whole life. She assumed he it probably happened more on bad hunts, but if it did he'd always made sure to tone it down when he came back. She saw Sam regular mad all the time, like any other human. He'd been regular mad at her more times than she could count. She'd never gotten him this mad before. Furious or livid was more accurate for his current state. At the very least, Sam was extremely, extremely pissed.

Casey let out a giant breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She was relieved at first, it was from Dean and not Sam. But then she realized that must have meant Dean knew. She unlocked the screen and read his text.

_This isn't funny. You need to come back now._

Casey's hands began to quiver. Even Dean was pissed at her. She'd seen Dean furious plenty of times, but he usually cooled off pretty quickly. Dean would get furious on a superficial level at direct situations or arguments and would calm down almost as soon as the disturbance had been resolved. Sometimes he would pout or brood for a short while afterward, but once he took himself out of his head and maybe had a beer or two it was almost as if nothing had happened in the first place. And when it came to being furious with Casey he tried to keep it to a bare minimum and be composed when he spoke to her about it. He saw himself as her protector, possibly more so than being Sam's protector. He and Sam only had four years apart. He and Casey had fourteen, so he would try his hardest to be reasonable with her and to remember that she was already living a hard life and she was still only a kid.

But now Dean was mad. Dean wasn't somebody who texted. Her preferred phone calls; they were quicker and more direct, whereas Casey preferred texting because she could look back and have verification of the prior conversation if need be, which she assumed was why he texted. Either that, or he knew there was no way she would answer a call at the moment, but would definitely read a text. Even if she didn't reply, he knew she would still read it.

She set her phone down and sat on her hands for a minute in an attempt to soothe herself and stop the trembling that was making its way up her body. She refused to have another panic attack. One was enough for the day. A second one in one day, especially in less than two hours, might even make her black out. Blacking out in a forest in the middle of nowhere could quickly become catastrophic, and she wouldn't even be aware until it was too late. She'd passed out from panic attacks before and wasn't willing to take the chance so she reached into her boot and pulled out her silver dagger, praying that she wasn't possessed, because otherwise this was about to hurt like a sonofabitch.

Casey yanked up her sleeve and drew the knife across her skin without hesitation. Sam had already checked her arms anyway, so even if they did find her, which they wouldn't, there would be no reason to check them again.

(TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM BELOW)

Casey always thought daggers were such dramatic weapons. Even the name was dramatic. Unless you were planning on stabbing something they were almost entirely pointless. Yes, her family did own quite a few, but her family also stabbed things as their lifestyle. Stabbing was a practical skill in her life, whereas for most other people it was a pretty senseless weapon to own. It was more realistic to own a meat cleaver honestly, which was another ridiculous choice of arm in her eyes, even in the kitchen. Just get a regular chef's knife and call it a day. Unless you were a murderous butcher there was no reason to own such a ludicrous tool.

She was in another world, creating a catalog of stupid weapons in her mind, when she felt her arm become too warm and wet too quickly. She looked down and could tell, even in the dark, that she'd screwed up again and would need stitches. They weren't deep to the point where she would die without them, but deep enough to where if she didn't get them sewn up or locate some super glue within the next few hours things had a very fair chance of becoming ugly. More of a chance than she would like to admit. Usually when she messed up like this she would wrap her arm tight and have her brothers drive her to a hardware store so she could pick up the biggest tube of superglue she could find and take care of it herself, but obviously that wouldn't be happening. Casey shoved her knife back in her shoe and brought her arm up closer to her face to get a better look. There were a couple that were shallow and a few that were questionable but would most likely be fine with a band-aid and a good antibiotic cream. But there were four of them that most definitely needed to be closed manually.

 _Shit_.

Casey sighed and yanked the hem of her t-shirt as hard as possible until she got the bottom to split. After that, tearing off a good sized hunk was easy. She ripped the strip of fabric around her back, circling her body three times until she had a small roll in her hand. She smirked.  _I always did think I should own more crop tops_. She held one end of the strip in her left hand and used her right to wrap it around her arm, pulling the cloth so tight you could see all the strings start to stretch away from its neighbors. She took the piece in her left hand and tied a double knot with the assistance of her teeth. Her phone buzzed again, but she shoved it a few feet away from her, enough to where it wouldn't bother her anymore yet still close enough to where she'd be able to find it if she needed to.

Casey flopped back into the tree and let out a giant sigh. The feeling of tightness and panic in her stomach was long gone. She was disappointed in herself, but she at least she wasn't going to pass out in the woods anymore. She pulled her sweatshirt across her lap like a blanket and leaned into the wood, using her hair as a barrier between her ear and the bark and closed her eyes. She was happy she wasn't going to faint, although she didn't necessarily want to sleep in a forest either. It was so dark though. The air was warm and there was the continuous hum of frogs and crickets all around her. She knew her arms and legs would be chewed up in the morning, but Bobby had all kinds of medicines in his house. She was sure there would be something for mosquito bites in his hoards.

Suddenly she felt her boot being hit and her hand flew to her calf and yanked out her dagger, brandishing it before opening her eyes all the way. She'd had "fight first, ask questions later" drilled into her skull by both her dad and brothers since she was four. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but whatever drowsiness she would've have from waking up was dashed by a potential threat. Something had touched her foot.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she began to wish there was a swarm of vampires in front of her rather than two pissed-off looking brothers.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Casey scrambled to stand up against the tree, tucking her knife in her belt, and stretched her foot to the side of the brothers and twisted her torso. She pushed her other foot against the trunk behind her to propel her run away from Dean and Sam.

"Oh no, sister, not today." That was Dean's voice. She felt a thick arm wrap around her waist and pull her towards him. She relaxed all the muscles in her body and used the dead weight to slip out under his arms, then pushed off the ground with her toes like an olympian. Sadly, she did not push away hard enough and a hand wrapped around one of her ankles and she slapped hard onto the ground with barely enough time to use her hands and forearms to break the fall away from her face. The hard hit against her injured arm made her cry out and roll on to her back, pushing her hands into her hair with a frustrated snarl. She knew she was caught. Someone let go of her ankle and two strong hands pulled her up from under her armpits. She was spun around until her face was pressed into a warm chest and arms wrapped around her tightly, not to trap her, but in a hug. She could tell by the smell it was Sam. He always smelled like wood and cotton and vanilla, whereas on Dean you could smell whiskey, smoke, and man deodorant.

"Don't you ever, ever do that again, okay?" Sam said into her hair and pressed a kiss on top of her head. He unwrapped his arms and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were on hers. They were full of worry and frustration. There was no more of the darkness that had scared her so much before. "Okay?" he asked again, this time a little bit louder. She could see the desperation in his face and nodded slowly. He pulled her back into his arms. "I'm sorry I scared you, Case. I was so worried and frustrated and upset and then you called me Samuel and swore at me and it just set me off. I'm sorry, Casey." He wasn't mad at her?

Dean grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Sam. He rested his giant palm on her shoulder. "Don't do that, okay? You can't freak us out like that? We- we already lost Dad. I'm not losin' my little sister too, got that?" His voice was stern, but wavered some as if he'd been crying not too long ago. She nodded. Dean squeezed her shoulder. "You're our baby sister. Don't forget that. We gotta keep you safe. Otherwise we would've just let a wendigo get you a long time ago and used the money on booze. But we would never do that to you because we love you. So you're stuck with us, alright? No running away anymore, got it?" Casey nodded again. "Good." He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before dropping his arm.

Sam grabbed her left hand and she turned towards him. He was looking at her improvised arm wrap. "Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, looking back up at her. She pulled her arm back to herself and pressed it firmly to her side. She looked around until she spotted her zip up and rushed to pick it up, but Dean's long legs got to it first and he handed it to her.

"Let's go home, okay?" he asked. She took the sweatshirt from him and put it on as quickly as possible. 'Home' meant the motel. She started towards it and the boys followed behind. Everyone remained silent for the entire hour it took to get back and until Dean locked the door and Casey sat on the bed, pushing herself against the headboard and pulling her legs up to her chest. She rested her head on her knees. She could feel both boys' eyes on her.

"You hungry?" Dean was the one who finally broke the silence. "You haven't eaten since lunch. That was awhile back. There's a twenty-four hour diner we passed coming in. If you want I can grab some burgers?" When Casey didn't say anything he looked at his brother. "Sam?"

"Yeah, sure, Dean. Don't forget that she doesn't like tomatoes." Sam moved to the small table that looked like it would break apart if Dean set the food there. It was strategic. The table was closer to the door than the bed Casey was on.

"No tomatoes, got it. Anything else?" There was another long silence. Sam's dry swallow was audible throughout the entire room. "Alright. Well. I'll leave you guys alone then." He turned to Casey and looked seriously at her. "If you need anything at all, call me." Dean spun on his heel and left, shutting Sam and Casey in. 


	4. Morse Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the last chapter: Sam looks at Casey's arms and is super nice about it, like he promised, even though he was actually really horrified (not about the act, but because he's afraid for his sister) he made sure he stayed composed. Then he asked to see the rest of her body to make sure everything was alright and Casey flipped out because she would essentially have to sit in front of her brother in her underwear. So she freaked out on Sam and finally, in an attempt to get him to understand that it wasn't about to happen she stepped on his last nerve and called him Samuel, so he got pissed and kind of yelled at her so she got scared and ran away and hid in a forest. Sam told Dean so he could help find her and Dean texted her that she needed to come back, she started to feel a panic attack so she self harmed pretty badly in an attempt to keep calm and wrapped it with a piece of her shirt, eventually fell asleep against a tree, her brothers found her and she tried to run away again but it didn't work so they all hugged and had a brief chick flick moment. They went back to the motel and, in an attempt to keep Casey from feeling uncomfortable, Dean went out to grab burgers and give Sam and Casey a little privacy and now Sam and Casey are sitting together and Dean literally just left. And that's where we are now.
> 
> There is some description of self harm wounds, but I tried to keep it to a minimum. I will label when it comes up. 
> 
> Keep commenting because it gets me so stoked to write more. I'm also thinking of maybe beginning to try my hand at imagines/preferences but in another "book". Thoughts at all? Thank you for reading, guys!! <3 <3 :)

 

They were silent for fifteen minutes until both of them looked up at each other at the same time. Sam sighed. "Casey-"

"He knows, doesn't he?" she asked blankly.

Sam paused before say, "Yeah. Yeah, he knows." He paused another moment. "I told him that you don't really want to talk about it with him though." Casey began to say something, looking alarmed, but Sam cut her off. "I didn't say it like that, obviously. He understands. He's not dumb, you know? He knows he can be kind of... angry sometimes. But he also cares about you very much. He's worried, Case. He wants to give you your space though. He knows you'll talk with him about it when you're ready." Casey settled down again. She didn't want Dean to think she hated him or anything, she was just afraid of him being mad or yelling at her. And she really didn't want to scare him. Sam seemed to understand she wasn't on a suicide mission or anything, she was just trying to relieve some pain. However, Casey wasn't sure that Dean would understand that part of it. It wasn't a completely unreasonable fear, she supposed. If Casey didn't know much about self harm or mental illnesses she would also probably assume that somebody who cut their arms was trying to kill themselves. It did make sense.

Sam brought her back to reality. He rubbed his forehead and his neck with his wide palm, smoothing out invisible tension. "Can we just get this over with, Case? The sooner we start the sooner it's done and then we can just talk. You know I'll be fast. Let's just get it done."

He looked just as exhausted as she felt. Casey pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Her eyebrows pulled together. She looked, and felt, like if you took 'frustration' and built it into a human being, and she was starting to give herself a tension headache. She clenched her fists and practiced breathing in fives like Sam showed her. After a couple minutes, she unpinched her face and exhaled slowly. She looked up at Sam. He gave her a sad smile and her heart shattered. She knew he was scared and that she was the one that scared him. He was scared and sad. She looked to where his hands were folded on his lap, unable to look at his sad eyes, and nodded.

Sam stood and walked toward her. She looked so small and scared, balled up into herself like she thought she would be able to vanish if she curled up tight enough. He extended his hand to her. Casey took it and slid off the bed and followed his lead to the bathroom. He brought her there in case Dean came in sooner than they thought, but left the door open to make sure she didn't feel as trapped. He went out and grabbed her some pajama pants and one of Dean's old t-shirts for after they were done, wanting her to feel cozy and safe when they went to bed.

She sat on the toilet with her arms wrapped around her torso awkwardly. Neither of them knew what to say. She wished she'd brought shorts so she could just lift up the bottoms. She mostly wished the entire situation wasn't happening, but obviously it was, so she wished for shorts instead.

Sam stood in the doorway and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Uh, do you wanna do your shirt first, I guess?"

Her eyes welled up so quickly she didn't have any time to stop the tears from escaping. She nodded and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. She took off her sweater and handed it to Sam. "Um, Casey?" She looked up at her brother. He towered over her. "Can I, uh, have your knife, please?" She whimpered but reached to her back and pulled it from her belt. There would be no keeping that on her always anymore. There was no point in pretending otherwise. She knew she had to give it to him herself or he would take it from her, and she really didn't feel like putting up another fight that she knew she would lose anyway. She set it in his palm carefully, making sure she didn't cut him on accident, and he walked out into the rest of the room. He was giving her space to take off her shirt and probably to hide her dagger. She was glad he'd left. Being forced to take off your shirt was one thing, but having to be watched while taking it off would be even worse.

Sam wasn't sure what to do with her knife. He looked around the room and finally settled on one of the smaller pockets in Dean's backpack. His own would've worked just as easily, but it was more predictable. There would be almost no reason for her to dig around in Dean's if she was looking for it. Although ideally she would never look for it again.

He wrapped the knife in a motel hand towel that was stolen a ways back and tucked it in. He then leaned against the bathroom wall and waited for Casey to say something. She was scared, and this was embarrassing for both of them. He'd never thought he would have to worry about having to check his sister for self-inflicted wounds. Sam was scared too. He would never even dream of judging Casey, although he knew that's a lot of what she was so terrified of. He wasn't disgusted or ashamed, just worried about her. He wanted to make sure she was okay, and if this is what it took then they were both going to suck it up and do whatever unpleasantness that was required.

God, he was so scared. He contemplated calling Cas for a moment to just heal her entire body so neither of them had to deal with this awkward situation. Eventually he decided against it because he knew she didn't want anybody to know. He wasn't planning on telling Dean originally, but then she ran away. He was so frustrated and he knew Casey had a different level of respect for his brother. She'd never admit it, but Sam knew she saw Dean almost as a father figure rather than a brother. He'd been around way more than John had and always babied her. She felt safe around both brothers and knew either of them would jump in the line of fire for her sake, but somehow it was a little bit different with Dean. Sam didn't mind that though. She appreciated Sam as a brother and her best friend rather than a brother and a somewhat-parent.

Sam cracked his knuckles. It had been a few minutes, much longer than what was necessary to just take off a shirt, but he wasn't going to push her. He also was trying to figure out what to do about her knew cuts. She wouldn't have destroyed her shirt unless they really needed wrapping. That's what really scared him.

He was pulled out of his head when he heard a very meek "okay" come from the bathroom. He sucked in a breath, made sure his face showed only love and concern, and walked into the bathroom to see his little sister perched on the edge of the tub wrapped in a towel. He was alarmed for a second until he noticed her bra straps were still on her shoulders. He was worried about her of course, but not to the point where he was going to make her get completely bare.

"I, um, thought this would be easier or faster or something," she mumbled. She refused to look up at Sam because now he could see her entire arm. Her shoulders always reminded her of a million zebras running together because it was impossible to tell where one scar ended and another began. The tops of her thighs were just as bad. Everything was raised. Casey almost believed that if a soldier touched them they would think it was morse code. She was so disgusted in herself, and now Sam had to see that side of her. She hadn't even looked underneath her make-shift clean up job yet and she already knew it was bad news. Sam was going to be pissed about those. Casey decided she would just have to take care of them herself.

Sam sat on the tub next to her and set his hand on her knee. "It's okay, kid," he said and kissed the side of her head before taking her arm and looking at her shoulder. It took a lot of effort for Sam not to say anything. He'd promised her he would be fast and he didn't want to hurt her feelings; he knew with her in such a vulnerable state he was already walking a fine line. He made sure to keep his breathing slow and even. There was a lump in his throat. He'd never realized how hard it must have been for her to hurt her body so much and then turn around and go hunting with herself all torn up. There were some wounds that looked a couple days old that were red and angry. When he hovered his hand above them he could feel heat. He was glad he found out, if these weren't treated soon a big problem might have risen. "I'll be right back," he mumbled. He washed his hands quickly and came back with a tube of antibiotic and a couple band-aids. He made sure he grabbed the colorful ones. It seemed silly, but in such a crap situation maybe some brightness might make things feel a little easier.

Casey held out her hand. "Let me do it, please," she whimpered, looking up at him. She looked so sad.

Sam shook his head. "I will." He sat back down and went about treating what needed some help. He also covered some that looked pretty much fine, but since he'd already started there was no point in skipping over them.

When he was finished with her arm he touched the bottom of her towel and looked up at her. She was staring at the ground and biting her thumbnail. "May I?" he asked quietly. She shrugged, permitting Sam to move the towel almost all the way to up to her hips. This time it was harder for Sam to hold back his reaction. "Casey...," he sighed.

"I know, Sam," she snapped, effectively silencing him. "I told you it was gross. This is dumb. They're fine. Get out, I'm getting dressed." Casey pulled her knee from his hands and scooted further down the edge to put some distance between them. She'd told him they were bad. She knew they were disgusting, but he didn't need to point it out. She'd trusted him not to say anything. Obviously that was a mistake, so she wanted him out. He'd had his chance.

He reached his long arm over and set his hand gently on her knee. "Casey, they're not gross. I'm not grossed out. I'm just worried about you. I don't want to see you hurting yourself," he said sincerely, pulling his best puppy dog look on her. Casey paused but eventually sighed and slid back towards him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

**_Mild description warning:_ **

"It's okay, Sam. Can we just hurry please? I want to go to bed." Sam nodded and went to work silently on her legs. A lot of the scars were thicker here. He supposed she'd had to press deeper to get through the thicker skin, a thought that made Sam nauseous. He still couldn't understand why his beautiful little sister would push a blade so hard to her skin until she bled. She was so wonderful and precious and pure. She had a type of good in her heart that he didn't see in very many people anymore. The goodness in people's hearts began to disappear as they aged, but Casey still had her's. Sam moved to kneel on the floor to begin checking and patching the few on her calves until there were no more that needed attention. After about twenty minutes, he stopped and looked up at her.

**_Description over._ **

"Casey." He stopped. He had to go about this very gingerly. "Case, you know you need to stop this. But, please, if things get bad like this again come to me so I can fix you up at least. I know it's embarrassing, but a lot of these are really deep. I won't be mad. Just tell me and I'll fix you up, no questions asked, okay?" Casey pursed her lips and thought a moment before giving one small nod. "Good. Now, besides that arm," Sam gestured to the cloth wrapping on her left, "are there any more?"

Casey felt her lips pull down into a deep frown and noticed tears begin to create little puddles on her thighs. She pulled her left thumb up to her lips, chewing on what was left of her nail. She moved her head up and down slowly and let her right hand release the bundle of towel that was keeping her covered, revealing the rows of cuts down her ribs and hips.

Sam's brows knitted together but the rest of his face didn't change. "Okay," he said quietly, and began to check out her torso. Casey stretched whichever way he was looking before he asked, which he was grateful for. He didn't need more than a minute, nothing there needed treating. He looked up at her and gave her a gentle smile. "Okay," he said again, this time confirming that she could pull her towel back up. Casey sent a silent thank you up to whoever was watching over her, probably Castiel in all honestly, that she didn't have to spend any more time in her underwear in front of her brother. She rewrapped her towel tightly, feeling relieved. It was short lived though; Sam moved to sit on the other side of her and started in on her left shoulder. She started in on her right thumbnail so she didn't have to look at him while he worked.

She felt him poke a spot that was strangely numb and looked over.

"Casey, what is this?" She realized what he was talking about and felt her face grow hot.

"Superglue," she mumbled. ** _(DON'T DO THIS. LITERALLY DO NOT. SO DANGEROUS.)_**

There was a long pause before Sam said slowly, "You... superglued... your skin back together?" Each word out of his mouth was pained and deliberate.

"Yes." Casey didn't think any elaboration was necessary.

"You superglued your skin back together?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They do it in hospitals." She knew it was obviously a kind made specifically for skin, but a surprising amount of people on the internet said it worked just the same and there was hardly a difference.

It didn't take long for Sam to put two and two together. "So this is why you had us pick up superglue so often," he spoke softly, more to himself than to Casey.

Her lip began to shake. "They do it in hospitals," she whispered, even quieter than Sam. Her face grew even hotter. She felt more ashamed than she'd ever felt in her entire life. She knew it was sick, having her brothers go out and buy stuff for her to put her skin back together from wounds that she'd caused, but she hadn't seen any other choices. It was simple, they needed to be closed and the boys could drive.

"You know that's not plain old superglue, right? That's specifically made for skin. Casey, why wouldn't you come to us? We would've helped you. You didn't need to go and paste yourself back together, we could've helped." Sam sounded so broken.

"I didn't want you to be angry at me," she mumbled.

"I'm not angry at you, but, Case, this is scary. You can't go on doing this to yourself. You can't go and tear yourself open and then glue yourself shut with some off brand superglue. That's not safe. This isn't safe, Casey," Sam scolded. He sounded angry but in his eyes there was only concern and love.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"This has to stop," he stated simply.

"I know."

"And no more of this super glue stuff, alright? You go to either me or Dean and we'll help you. Lecture free."

"I will, Sammy."

Sam wrapped his arm around Casey's shoulders and she leaned into his side. They sat together in silence until they heard the door to the motel room open. Neither of them made any inclination to move until Dean rapped on the wall with his knuckles, keeping himself clear from the doorway to keep their privacy.

"You guys need anything?" he called with forced casualness.

Sam responded, "Got any whiskey?"

There was a loud snort. "Whadda you think, Sammy?"

Sam smirked, unsurprised. Dean was nearly a whiskey connoisseur; there was always some brand laying around, usually in his hand. "Good," he noted. There was a loud ffooosh as Dean dropped onto the bed before. They could hear the sound of the TV shortly after. Sam turned to her. "Alright. Wanna just get these ones over with so we can go back out and watch some TV before bed?" He motioned to her new wounds. He felt her stiffen beside him and begin to pull away from his side. Before she could argue he maintained, "Don't say you'll do it yourself. We both know you won't, and there's no superglue so you can't even MacGyver a clean up job if you wanted to. And don't say they aren't that bad, because since we've been in here you've had to rotate your patch job twice because it's wet and uncomfortable. Plus, there's a stain on your towel," he gestured towards a spot on her lower stomach, "from where it bled through. Wounds that 'aren't that bad' don't bleed through like that. Just let me fix it." He ended his argument with a sigh and a disconsolate look on his face, silently pleading her to hand over her arm.

"Sam," she started, "They aren't good. They're actually pretty bad, Sammy." She looked down towards the scrap of shirt affixed to her arm.

"Then we better just get it over with," he hinted. Casey's shoulders fell in concession and she set her hand on his lap. He kissed her forehead. "Thank you." It took a moment to untie the knot with his practically nonexistent nails, but he eventually got the ends apart and unwound the strip. 


	5. She Gets the Good Stuff

He felt his face sink along with his stomach. They were bad. They were probably around 3/4ths of an inch wide. He'd seen her scars from wounds like this, but it was completely different to see them first hand and fresh. He didn't even want to bandage them; he was too afraid of hurting her. He placed her hand gently back onto her lap and shut the door. Casey was going to argue and he was sure she was not about to be happy if Dean heard. He sat on the lid of the toilet and ran his hand through his hair. There was no other way to say it. "Casey, these need stitches," he stated simply, bracing himself for her reaction.

The blood from her face drained. "No, Sam." Her tone was telling him to drop it, but Sam wouldn't bite.

"Casey, these need stitches and you know it. We're not going to glue these together. These need actual attention," he coaxed. Cuts of this magnitude were not going to slide by. He was already amazed by the fact that she'd created so many that bad before and not had to get actual, professional medical attention. Wounds like this were almost beyond Sam and Dean. The only reason he wasn't going to drag her to the hospital was because he knew she would never go to him again, even if it was a smaller cut that just needed to be doused in whiskey. Sam cringed. These were going to need a lot of whiskey, and she was about to hate him for it.

"Sam." Her volume was beginning to rise. "That's not happening. Either put a real bandage on them or go away," she bit. There was fire in her eyes, as well as fear. She was terrified. Her brothers weren't doctors and they didn't have anesthetic. They always just took a couple ibuprofen with a shot or two of Jack and sewed themselves up. She couldn't get stitches without some sort of pain killer, and she highly doubted they were going to go out and score some vicodin for her.

"Casey, this is either happening the easy way or the hard way and you know it. These are bad. I can't let this one slide." His eyes were pleading, but also firm. He was dead set.

Casey felt her lips began to pull down again. "Sam, I'm scared," she admitted.

Sam squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I've had stitches lots of times. It is a little scary, but it's better than having you skin necrotize." He shrugged. "It's not fun, but you aren't gonna take care of this yourself. These are sketchy, Case. If tonight wasn't already so hard I would drag your ass to the hospital." Casey's eyes grew and her chest began to puff out, but Sam kept going. "I'm not going to though." She deflated a bit and awkwardly leaned into his side again. "You've done a really great job today and we can take care of these here. No doctors. Just you and your two big brothers."

She pulled back and pressed her arms against her chest, almost as if she was protecting herself from being staked. Two brothers? "Dean can't see. He can't see these, Sam. He'll be so mad, he can't see these. These are too bad. He'll kill me. He can't see them, Sam." Her eyes were frantic. She looked around the bathroom, praying for some way to escape. Maybe a vent or something. If she tried to bolt out the door Sam would block it before she'd be able to stand all the way up, which would only succeed in pissing both of them off. She looked up at him. "Sammy, he can't see. Please, Sam, he can't see these. He's going to yell at me. He'll be so angry. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me already. Sam. Please. He can't know," she implored, grabbing his hand. She was desperate. "Please, Sam. Please." Her voice was low and she squeezed his hand even more.

"He's not going to be mad. Upset, sure, but not at you. He's upset with himself. I'm upset with myself, too, because we didn't even notice anything was going on. He won't be mad, sweetie. He loves you. We both want to protect you, even if that means from yourself," he said softly. "You're gonna need him here though. You need a hand to hold, and if I'm stitching it can't really be mine. Plus Dean is stronger than me. You won't break his hand. Probably." He forced a soft chuckle in an attempt to comfort her as much as possible. She grasped his hand even harder, her face was begging him to change his mind. He could feel her pulse racing in his palm. He truly did sympathize with her, but he knew he was right. He'd stressed that she would need a hand to hold, which was true, but mainly he wanted Dean there in case he needed help keeping her still. She'd never needed stitches before- her ears weren't even pierced. It would be no easy task to take care of just one cut, and he needed to sew up four. It was already going to take hours, he knew she would need breaks, but without Dean he'd be amazed to get one done at all. "It'll be okay," he assured. "I promise."

Sam kept his promises, Casey had nothing but proof of that. He promised not to judge her and to check her out as quickly as possible. He'd followed through on both of those. But to promise that something would be okay was steep. It was also vague. Sam's idea of 'okay' might be different than Casey's. Lord only knew what Dean classified as 'okay'. Although Sam did keep his promises. "Okay," she whispered.

"It'll be okay," he repeated. "Wanna get dressed?" She nodded slowly and exhaled. Sam stood and kissed her hair before going to the main room to get everything he needed, including his brother. "Dean?" His brother looked up from the TV. "You gotta help us out here."

Dean sat straight up. "What's wrong? Is she okay?" He stood and strode to his brother, all business.

"Uh, sort of." He thought for a moment to decide how to word his request. Their sister was right, Dean did have a bit of a temper sometimes. Sam felt like he'd been walking on eggshells all day between the two of them. "Dean, you have to promise you won't be mad."

Dean nodded once. "Okay?" He waited for Sam to continue.

"I'm serious, Dean. You gotta promise. Not for me, for her. She's terrified and if you walk in there all mad she will never let either of us near her ever again, and we need to help her right now. So you have to keep your anger in check, okay? So you better promise," he warned.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Sammy. You're making me sound like a lunatic here." Sam glared at him. "I promise. Scouts honor." He held up three fingers and gave a military salute.

Sam sighed and prepared himself for what he had to say. Saying it to Dean somehow made everything seem more real. His little sister  _was_  hurting herself and she  _did_  need stitches. Those facts weren't going to go away, no matter how much he wished they would. He would give almost anything for her to not be in pain. Nobody should have to stitch up their little sister, especially not in these circumstances. Nobody should feel that they needed to hurt themselves for relief in the first place, but that was another fact that wasn't going to go away. It made his soul ache. He inhaled as deep as possible and, speaking as slowly as possible, he said, "Dean, Casey needs stitches. I need you there to hold her hand. Possibly even to hold her still. This is about to hurt like a bitch, Dean, and she's going to need all the support she can get."

Dean was silent for a moment. His reply surprised Sam. "Couldn't we call Cas to just heal her up?" He didn't sound angry at all. Sam shook his head.

"I already wasn't supposed to tell you. She really doesn't want you to see this either, no offense. I can't break her trust again. She doesn't have anybody outside of us, Bobby, and Cas. She needs somebody she can lean on, and if she needs to I'd prefer it to be one of us." Dean paused again and gave one firm nod. "Thank you. Where's the whiskey?"

"Sam, you're not going to..."

"I have to, man. I can't sew her up with bacteria in there. That's just asking for an infection," he reasoned.

"I guess. God, she's never going to look at us the same way again. Dammit, Sammy. Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Dean's voice started to raise and he kicked the bed.

"Dean," Sam cautioned.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just... I don't know. Let's just get this over with. He grabbed the most expensive bottle of whiskey from his bag. If his sister was going to have to suffer through this crap she was gonna get the best available.

Sam rifled through his bag and produced a first aid kit, complete with curved needle and dental floss. This was about to suck. The two brothers looked at each other in silent acceptance of the scene they were about to walk into, and opened the bathroom door.

Dean put a soft smile on his face when he saw his sister sitting on the edge of the tub. She was wearing one of his old Bon Jovi shirts and a pair of pajama pants with pictures of hamburgers all over them. He remembered Dad bringing them home for Christmas one year for Sammy. They'd been passed on to her after Sam obtained the ability to change the smoke alarm without standing on a chair.

She smiled sadly at him. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey, kiddo!" He tried to sound enthusiastic while remaining quiet so she wasn't startled. He was trying to show her he wasn't mad at her. In reality, he was furious, but never at his kid sister. Only at himself. He should have noticed something was wrong, it was his job as a big brother. He was supposed to watch over her and Sam. He'd made sure to do that from the day she was born. He set down the bottle of whiskey and sat next to her, setting his hand on her knee. "So...," he started awkwardly. What do you even say in a situation like this? "Sam said you were in a tight spot and needed me to hang around." She nodded her head slowly and folded her hands together, making sure her surgical site rested on her legs so he couldn't see. He gave her knee a squeeze. "It's okay, kid. I'm here for ya," he assured her, attempting to sound casual. He was hoping that if he acted like nothing here was out of the ordinary she wouldn't feel so ashamed. She had nothing to be ashamed about.

"I'm sorry, D," she whispered.

Dean moved his arm around her shoulder and took her knee in his other hand so he could press her tight against him. "You got nothing to be sorry for, CaseFace." Casey rested her head on his shoulder. He looked up at his brother, who had his back turned to them, probably setting up the needle and whatever bandages or wraps he wanted. Dean didn't really know. Sam always went above and beyond, much unlike Dean, who would simply wipe the needle with his shirt just prior to knitting his wound back together. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam turned around, keeping his hands hidden. Oh, yeah, he was definitely getting the needle ready. "Yeah?"

"Will you get me a cup of water?"

Sam raised his eyebrow, unimpressed. "Really, Dean?"

"Yeah, Casey's thirsty."

"I didn't hear her say anything," Sam countered incredulously.

"Look at her," Dean gestured to his sister. "She's practically white," he insisted.

"We _are_  white, Dean."

Dean gave him an exasperated look. "Just get the girl some water, alright?" Sam grinned and walked away. He came back a moment later with a full plastic cup from the motel.

"Happy?" he snapped.

"Undoubtedly." Dean turned and winked at Casey while Sam went back to the counter to get all set up. Dean held a finger to lips and slowly poured the water out so Sam didn't hear. He leaned forward, careful not to make any noise, to grab his Scottish lover and slowly unscrewed the cap. With what was coming to her she was about to want a drink, fifteen years old be damned. Dean figured once you'd killed at least three things in your life it was okay for you to drink. He looked firmly at Casey and gave her the "shh" sign again. Casey nodded and a mischievous grin spread across her face. He filled the cup to the brim. Casey's eyes widened as she regarded it skeptically, but her face relaxed as she watched Dean quickly swallow the entire thing. He looked at her again with his own sneaky smile and poured another helping, this time only filling it a fourth of the way. He handed the cup to Casey. She took it, yet still looked at it. She wasn't sure in the least bit if she actually wanted it. She looked at her older brother, who raised his eyebrows and smirked, daring her. She narrowed her eyes and raised the small cup. She opened her mouth and tossed the drink towards the back of her throat like she saw people do in movies. 

Immediately her mouth was on fire. She panicked for a moment and tried to remember how to swallow. How could he drink that stuff? She gasped as soon as she was able and began to cough. Her brother began laughing. Casey glared at him, he thought he was so funny and she was stuck coughing with her mouth tasting like she'd just chugged a bottle of glass cleaner.

Sam whirled around to see his cackling brother and hacking sister. He was confused until he saw the open handle of whiskey in Dean's hand. After that it didn't take long to put it together.

"Dean, what the hell!" Sam scolded. Dean looked up, still laughing, and put the bottle behind his back, like that would restore his innocence. "She's fifteen, Dean!"

"Yeah? And she's had a really crap day. I think she's earned a little hooch tonight," he snickered.

"Give me that!" Sam snatched the bottle out from behind Dean so he could screw the lid on, then took the cup from Casey and filled it from the tub faucet. He handed her the the cup again and she looked up at him gratefully while she grimaced and wiping her offended tongue on the roof of her mouth. He turned back to Dean. "I didn't realize you turned twenty-one again when I wasn't looking," he chided.

Dean grinned up at his little-tall brother. "I didn't. I just have a lot of empathy." He smirked and batted his eyelashes at Sam. 


	6. Vicodin

Sam snorted. "Empathy. Yeah right." He walked back to the counter and turned around with the needle and thread in one hand accompanied by Dean's whiskey in the other . His face was filled with apprehension. He really did not feel like doing this. He swallowed and looked back at Casey. "Okay, Case. Let's get this over with, okay?" It took one sweep across his face to see he was entirely perturbed by everything that was going on.

Casey could feel her every system in her body begin to work itself up, heart, lungs, brain. Even her nervous system was on edge. She became hyper aware of everything in the small bathroom, the cracks in the linoleum and the growing mildew on the ceiling glared at her. Her shoulders and back straightened up and she braced herself into the ceramic edge under her. She looked between her two brothers. They both had unsettlingly kind looks on their faces, Sam's remorseful and Dean's painted with a sympathetic smile. She shot a quick glance at the door, even though she knew there was no possible way she'd be able to escape she couldn't help but feel a tiny amount of hope. Maybe she could act like she was okay so Dean would let go of her and then dive around Sam and bolt out the door. The likelihood of her plan working was slim to none. What would probably happen is she would go to dive around Sam, but Dean would catch her foot and send her splaying into the ground, probably ending with a split lip.

"It's not going to work and you know it, Casey." Sam's warning pulled her back into reality. She looked back up at him, his face still contrite.

Dean squeezed her knee. When she looked back at him there was only worry and love in his eyes this time. "It'll be alright, kiddo. We got you. You're safe," he promised.

She looked up at Dean. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch, isn't it, D?"

"Hey!"

"You gave her whiskey, Dean. You have no room to be mad about her saying bitch. She grew up around you, remember?" Sam interjected, putting Dean's argument to a halt. He looked at Casey. "Yeah. It is gonna hurt like a bitch. I can't lie about that. But the sooner we start the sooner it's done and you won't have to deal with this horrifying anxiety anymore because it'll be over."

"It's not so hard to just invest in some Vicodin, guys," Casey muttered, staring at the floor.

"No, but it is illegal," Sam pointed out. She looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, but we've never messed with drugs."

"No? Only guns and credit card fraud and impersonating God knows how many professions, then?" she said innocently.

"Got that right, sweetheart." Dean bumped her knee with his and gave her a knowing wink. Dean's winks were always comforting. Usually they were followed with a little mayhem, but they were filled with love, and for that she was thankful. "I did have a thought though," Dean continued. "If you wanted, we don't have to, but if you wanted we could just call Cas and have him heal you up."

Casey shook her head quickly. Out of everybody she knew, Castiel was easily the last person, well, being she wanted to find out about this. It was tempting, but she knew the angel wouldn't be able to understand and she didn't want to sit through attempting to explain to him how something that hurt so bad somehow made her feel better. She already couldn't understand it herself. Making Dean get it was going to be a feat in and of itself, she didn't need to add Cas to the list. "I'd rather just do this," she mumbled.

Dean squeezed her knee again. "Sounds good, kid." He regarded her with a face full of pride before looking up at his brother. "Sammy?" He stuck his hand out and Sam returned the whiskey back to him. Dean unscrewed the cap with his same hand and took a long swig. It was about to be a long night, there was nothing saying he couldn't catch a little buzz along with it.

Sam sat on the toilet in front of Casey, trying to hide the needle as much as possible.

He smiled softly at her. "Can I see your arm, please?" He held out his hand and waited for her. Casey's eyes grew wide and she shot an alarmed look at Dean, who was busy placing the open bottle at Sam's feet.

"It'll be okay, kiddo," he assured her and kissed the side of her head, a gesture that seemed to be happening a lot lately. She didn't look convinced.

"We're only doing this because we don't want things to get out of hand," Sam added. "We love you a lot, Case, and we don't want you hurting more than you already are." Casey looked down at his large palm, politely waiting for her's to join. It didn't look so menacing attached to her brother, it was the contents of his other hand that made her squirm. She looked back up a Sam and Sam smiled, when she looked back at Dean he gave the same look. They were her brothers. No matter how much this was going to suck, they would never hurt her intentionally. She sent a silent prayer up to whoever and set her hand in Sam's, her fingers shaking gently. Sam beamed at her. "Thanks, sweetie." He placed her hand on his knee, picked up the whiskey, and took a deep breath. "Ready, Case?" She bit her lip and nodded. She squeezed Dean's knee tightly, digging her nails into his leg, although he didn't seem to mind. Sam took a slow breath and held it while he turned over her arm and poured a generous amount over his little sister's arm.

She gasped and yanked her hand back. "What the fuck, Sam?" She clutched her arm to her chest, hoping the burning would go away. She knew it was going to hurt but she didn't think he was about to light her arm on fire like that. "Ow, Sam. Ow, big time ow." Dean moved his arm to wrap around her shoulders. Partially to comfort her, but also to help Sam out too.

"Okay, I know that hurts really bad, but I just gotta hit it one more time, Case," Sam pleaded.

"Hell no, Sam. Hell no. You are not doing that again." Casey clutched her arm and glared at her brother. How could he even expect her to say yes to that? Calling Castiel was beginning to sound more attractive to her.

It was Dean who spoke next. "Hey. You gotta get that cleaned out. Sam's just doing it the easiest way possible. Just another splash, kiddo. Probably not even a full shot." She looked up at her oldest brother, reading the sincerity in his eyes. "Will you just let us fix this? Please?" Casey bit her lip and placed her hand back on Sam's lap.

"Can you please just go fast?" Sam nodded. Casey pinched her eyes shut and prepared for the worst. She wasn't surprised with the next flash of pain, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. She pushed her face into Dean's shoulder and groaned. He hadn't lied though, Sam couldn't have poured for more than a second before screwing the top back on again.

He let out a breath. "You did really well, Casey. Thank you."

Casey didn't uncover her face before mumbling, "Just go, please." She pushed her arm adamantly toward Sam, urging him on. She knew that if they took a break she would never gain her momentum back, he would also need to sterilize her when they started again. The faster they started the faster they'd be done.

Sam gave one firm jerk of his head and looked down at her arm. He hesitated. How could someone so precious do something like this to themselves? Her arm was literally gaping and the only monster that did that to her was inside her own skull. And there were no tricks, hexes, or rituals that could get rid of it. He analyzed her arm and realized that he knew they would need to call Castiel. There was no way Casey would be able to sit through all four of these. They were deep and long, each one needing at least ten stitches. She'd never been stitched up either. They were going to need to call Cas and Casey would not be happy about that in the least bit. Sam supposed, though, that he could work on her until she made the call. Then there wouldn't be any more trust broken between them today.

"Sam?" Casey pressed, her voice several octaves higher than usual. She pulled Sam out of his head, although he didn't look up. He bit his lip and his brow furrowed together. He looked nearly as scared as she felt. Casey looked back at Dean, but he was focused on Sammy. She looked back at Sam, just in time to watch him push the needle through her mangled skin.

Casey cried out, but managed to leave her arm still. "Sorry, sorry," Sam mumbled in a rush. He didn't waste any time before pulling the thread tight and piercing through the other side. Casey whimpered. 

"Sammy," she whimpered. Sam didn't look up though, he just kept working. He wanted to finish her up as quickly as possible. The next few stabs were punctuated with gasps and yelps that escalated in intensity. He was almost done with the first cut when she finally began crying. "Sammy," she wailed. "Sam, it hurts." She'd been waiting to become accustomed to the pain, but as her skin swelled more and more and the stab only got worse. As Sam tied off the end of her sutures, Dean's grasp around her relaxed some. Casey was grateful for the ability to breathe slightly more and unclenched some of the muscles she'd been holding tight. She knew there were three more, but she couldn't help but feel relieved that one was finished.

Then Sam picked up the handle of whiskey again and ruined every ounce of peace she'd been so happy to find.

Casey pushed herself up against Dean's side. "No! You are not doing that again! No, Sam!"

"Casey, come on," he asked. He tried using his puppy eyes, but Casey would not bite.

"No. No way. Nope." She looked at Dean, hoping he'd back her up, and was horrified when his face was filled with sympathy. He pulled his arm around her tighter, but this time Casey could tell it was to keep her still for Sammy than to make her feel safe. She began to panic. She didn't know what to do. He'd just poked how many new holes into her? New wounds for the alcohol to burn, on top of the old ones. She couldn't deal with that after every cut was patched up again. She had no options. "Cas. Call Cas. You can't do that, Sam. Dean, call Castiel." Casey gripped the tub. Sam wouldn't have to hurt her now, but the anxiety of the angel being privy to her craziness made her stomach flip. Dean could see it on her face. There was no color in her cheeks. He grabbed her free hand.

"Cas can help you. He might not understand, but he'll help anyways." Dean smiled down at her. Castiel would never understand, there was no 'might' about it. Dean was planning on taking care of that, though. He wouldn't make his baby sister have to try and explain herself. She was in a vulnerable state, Dean didn't see any reason to add to that. "I'll explain what's going on to Cas. I'll try to keep it to a bare minimum. Lying to him is pointless, but that doesn't mean he has to know everything."

Casey sighed. None of this was ideal. She supposed, though, that she did bring it on herself. She deserved every last moment of this torture. What was she even thinking? Who cuts themselves? What kind of freak even does something like that? Nobody sane, she was sure. She couldn't even mutilate herself right. _God, what an idiot. I can't believe I got caught. Just another failure. I'm such a screw up. I don't even know how Dean and Sam can even stand to be in the same room as me right now. I cause more trouble than I'm worth. They could be out killing monsters and demons and saving lives, but instead they're stuck in this stupid hotel with stupid me, who can't even get stupid stitches like an adult. Now Castiel is going to be sucked into my mess too. God, I can't believe I'm so stupid. Dad would be so pissed right now. Cas is gonna be pissed too. I don't deserve help. I deserve pain. I deserve-_

"No, you do not deserve pain," interrupted a deep voice. Casey looked up to see Castiel standing in the doorway. His head was cocked to the side and he was confused. "I don't understand why you think you deserve pain. Or all of those other things you think about yourself." He looked at the arm you were holding to your chest. "May I see, please?" Castiel's tone had no malice or judgement in it. He only sounded confused. He didn't hide his emotions particularly well, if he even tried at all, which wasn't very often.

Casey hesitated before whispering, "You shouldn't read minds without permission, Castiel." She looked down. He'd announced her private thoughts directly to her brothers.

"You're injured and nobody said how. I decided to find out myself."

"You could've waited." Casey's voice became even lower.

"I didn't want to. I saw you were wounded and became worried, so I looked. Why would you hurt yourself though? Don't you understand how special you are?" Cas looked frustrated, his frown deepening and his head tilting the other direction. He took a step toward Casey. She pushed herself closer to Dean, nervous about the angel's intention. "You don't need to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you. You are one of my greatest friends. I won't hurt you, Cassandra." Casey looked back up at him. "Why did you hurt yourself?" he pressed.

She took a long inhale. "I just can't do anything right. I hate myself. I can hardly even look at myself in the mirror without being disgusted. Not even just physically either. I'm disgusted with everything I think or do or say. I'm annoying. I make people uncomfortable, I can see it in their eyes. I'm more trouble than I'm worth, Castiel. For all the time I waste people die. I deserve this. And then I see what I've done to myself and become even more horrified at me. I'm a waste of breathing space, Cas. I deserve every single scar on my body. There will never be enough.  _I_  will never be enough." By the time she was finished speaking her voice was nearly inaudible. She looked at her brothers. Sam's eyes were full puppy-dog. Dean just looked angry. She couldn't read Castiel's face.

"Casey, none of what you said holds any truth. If you weren't taking up this 'breathing space', somebody else would, and I can assure you they would be of far less import to this world than you are. You do not deserve pain. You deserve happiness. That's why there is a Heaven, for people like you and your brothers to go to when the time is right. You are enough for your brothers and my father, which already makes you enough for me if I didn't already care so much for you to begin with. You don't deserve any more pain than the world has already inflicted upon you." Castiel spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world. And, to him, it was. Casey was nice, helped people when she could, loved deeply, and had a good heart. That was more than enough for Castiel to believe someone didn't deserve pain. Humans had so much distaste for themselves. The bible said that God loved them. Wasn't that enough proof that one should love themselves? Their Bible did get a lot wrong, but there was still some right in it too. 


	7. The Self Preservation Gene

"Cas," Casey whispered, her eyes starting to fill again. "Cas, I can't stop. I can't stop this. I've tried so many times but it never seems to work. I always run back to it." Her brothers could obviously hear too, but it helped her to think she was only talking to one person. "I can't stop."

Castiel could hear the desperation in her voice and he felt a pang in his chest. He didn't understand very well. Why couldn't she just not do it? All somebody would have to do is put down whatever they were going to use and do something else- how was that so difficult? He wanted to ask, but he could tell from the hopelessness in her eye it wasn't that simple. "Why don't you talk to somebody when you feel the need to hurt yourself? You can always pray and I will come if I'm available," he suggested. That seemed like a sufficient sentiment. It didn't sound like he was being heartless. Cas wasn't heartless by any means, he just had difficulty understanding and returning affections to his loved ones. He loved Casey. He thought she was kind and he liked how their nicknames were similar and how their full names had the same number of syllables in them. She brought joy with her when she walked into the room, even during the apocalypse she could manage to ease tension with her natural purity. Castiel appreciated that about her most of all.

"I don't want to burden anybody, I guess." Casey shrugged.

"Family is never a burden. It is no burden to help someone you care about be happy. No matter how much is going on in the world, your well-being will always come first." There was no room for argument in his voice. She felt her heart swell at the fact that Castiel considered her to be his family. Family was no joke when you were a Winchester, and the fact that he saw her in that way meant the world to her. Casey looked at her brothers. Both of them nodded at her, their faces full of concern and love as well. She turned back to Castiel. His eyes were on her arm and the blood stains that were ruining her pajamas. He looked back at her face. "May I please see your arm?"

Casey felt her cheeks heat up and she knew without looking in a mirror that they were fire-engine red. "They're really bad, Castiel," she mumbled.

"I assumed. I know you called me because the stitches hurt too much. That's okay. I don't think I would like getting stitches either. I can fix this without any pain, if you'd like?" His blue eyes were kind. Soft, with an otherworldly knowing about them. He may not have understood, but, having seen what he'd seen in the world, she knew he meant no harm to her.

"Just don't be mad, okay?" The levels of vulnerability she was reaching were astounding. Never in her life would she have thought her secrets would be spilled to anyone, especially not to everyone she loved in one night. And she definitely didn't think anybody would see.

"What makes you think I'd be upset with you?" His head cocked in his signature confused-Castiel manner. The familiarity put her at ease and brought a small smile to her face. Her chest lightened with what felt like a thousand pounds as she began to realize that she had no reason to be afraid of the angel. He'd never been anything but kind to her.

"I suppose I don't really know, Cas. I've just always been afraid of this moment. Nobody was ever supposed to know. I didn't want you guys to think I was a freak," she explained, every word hitting him with a new level of understanding that was putting her at ease.

"Cassandra, I have seen the 'freaks' of the world. I have seen a million people who have cut themselves and they are no more of 'freaks' than people who brush their teeth in the shower. That's a habit I also don't understand, but it doesn't make them wrong." He said this like it was the most normal conversation in the entire world and he was only stating the obvious. To him it was obvious. Everybody had different habits. Some of those habit affected them negatively, but it didn't make them abnormal. It just meant they had something they needed to work on.

Casey's face softened. "Okay, Cas. I trust you." Castiel crouched in front of her and offered her his hand, which she accepted. He smiled reassuringly at her before turning her palm over to see her wounds for the first time. He frowned and looked up at her.

"These look very painful."

Casey shrugged. "I don't think I really thought much about the pain while I was doing it." He looked back down and went to touch one, but stopped and looked up, silently asking for permission. Casey nodded. Castiel stroked one gently with his finger tip, making her shudder. Cas stopped immediately.

"My apologies. These are very deep. Please don't do this anymore, Casey." His brow was tight and his jaw was set as he studied her arm. They must have hurt terribly to do. She had to have been in a lot of pain to be able to make herself cut so deeply. It was like her self-preservation gene didn't exist. They were were filled with dark gooey blood instead of the fresh, brilliant red that he usually saw when patching up the Winchesters. He could see the fat inside her arm. He couldn't help reading her mind. He wasn't even reading it, really, the screaming in her head was so loud he could hear almost every word without trying. It hurt to hear and felt like something called a "headache", but it also hurt because it was terrible to discover your friend was in so much pain. Her mind was howling. She was embarrassed, ashamed, scared. She was scared of him. That made him sad, but he was hoping that if he showed immense kindness to her she wouldn't be so afraid.

"These are bad, Casey, but easy to heal," Cas assured her. She looked up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes as placed his hand on her's. Casey felt warmth spread from the pit of her stomach and suddenly her arms were healed. It was as if there hadn't ever been so much as a cat scratch. She pulled her arm back and gently ran the tips of her fingers over the new skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her arm so clear. She hesitated, then lifted her t-shirt, revealing her pale, unscathed stomach. She stroked across her abdomen and closed her eyes. There were no more bumpy keloids or scratchy scabs. Nothing to rub against and cause incessant pain day in day out. If her torso was clear, she assumed her legs were too. She wiggled her thighs around and grinned when there was no uncomfortable stretch of healing skin.

She looked up at Castiel. "Cas," she began, her eyes saturated in gratitude. "Cas, I haven't seen... I'm just so- I mean, I haven't been so... clean since I was tiny. I'm so clean. I look so new. I look like somebody completely new. Cas. Castiel, I can't even begin to thank you." She stood and threw her arms around Cas, squeezing his vessel as tight as she possibly could. Castiel was always bad with hugs, but he eventually placed his arms awkwardly around her shoulders. It seemed close enough to what she was doing. She was a bit shorter than him and it didn't feel entirely comfortable. What was so comforting about clutching another person like that? He could feel that she appreciated the gesture though, so he held on until she was ready to let go.

She released Cas long after their embrace had become uncomfortable. Casey was overwhelmed with emotions, but after unlocking the angel from her arms she felt strangely empty. Disappointed, almost. She knew it was sick, but she'd worked so hard to achieve those scars. It was like every time she hurt herself it was a personal challenge, almost like a dare, to make the marks worse than before, and now they were gone forever. Why was she so upset about it, though? She'd wished how many times that they were gone? Hiding them from her brothers had already been a huge task, shouldn't she be happy that wouldn't be a problem anymore? She'd always wondered that if she had a clean body again if she would feel the need to keep cutting, and now it was obvious the answer was yes. Her body was clean. Her trophies and burdens were gone and she felt empty. When she'd felt empty before, she would cut. But how was she supposed to do that anymore? Everybody would know.

Dean noticed her hesitation. "You alright there, kiddo?" he prodded.

Casey wrapped her arms around her torso. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She looked up at Castiel again. "Thanks again, Cas. I really appreciate it." Casey forced another grateful smile on her face. She truly was thankful for his help, but she wasn't happy about it anymore. She was hurt.

"I will always help my friends. If you need help again just pray and I'll come as soon as possible. There's always a lot going on in Heaven, but I would rather you be safe than Heaven be together again sooner," the angel assured her, resting a hand on her shoulder lightly. He turned to the brothers then. "May I talk to you two? Privately?" Sam stepped out of the bathroom to make way for Dean and Cas to leave, but Cas looked back at Casey to speak first. "It's a matter regarding Heaven. Will you be okay alone for a moment?" 

Casey sat back on the tub and shrugged, knowing he was blatantly lying and that they really were going to talk about what to do with Crazy Casey. "I'll be fine. They took away my knife anyways." She forced a small chuckle. Castiel didn't really understand the humor in such a grave statement, but as long as it brought her amusement it was fine with him, so he led the boys outside of the motel room.


	8. Desperate Times

Cas stopped walking abruptly as soon as the door closed, forcing Dean to run into his back.

"Cas, what the hell?" he grumbled.

Castiel ignored him. "How are you two planning on keeping her safe?" He looked between the brothers. Both of them had clueless looks on their faces. How had they not thought of that already? Castiel's mind was buzzing with suggestions already and he'd only been with them for four minutes.

"We haven't really gotten that far, Cas," Sam explained.

"When did this happen? How long has this been happening?" From the scarring he'd seen he could tell it'd been at least a couple of years. Every time she hurt herself he knew the addiction had sunk itself into her soul more and more, and from how her arms had looked he wasn't feeling very optimistic.

"We haven't had the chance to ask yet. I only found out this afternoon because her sleeves rolled up," Sam began.

"How did you find out?" directed at Dean. Dean had a habit of being impulsive, but he usually found out the rest of the story sooner rather than later.

"Sammy told me at a rest stop. She doesn't know that though. She didn't want me to know, but then she ran away-" Dean began, but Castiel interrupted him.

"She ran away? What do you mean she ran away? Why did you let her out of your sight? She's a danger to herself." Castiel's face turned stormy. His friends weren't simple minded; how did they let a fifteen year old girl get away? Why did they let her get away?

"Can you stop with the inquisition, Cas?" Dean demanded. It was an overwhelming situation already and he didn't need a stinking angel hounding him more than he was already hounding himself. "Her and Sam were talking in the motel, she got scared and ran away. Sam called me and then we found her, but she cut her arm up bad before we got there."

"Scared of you?" He looked at Sam. He was one of the least fearsome beings he knew.

Sam sighed. He really didn't feel like revisiting everything, but he knew there would be no resting until Cas was aware of the entire situation. "I asked to see the wounds on the rest of her body and she freaked out." Sam could see the wheels turning in Castiel's head. "So we've been too busy to discuss how to prevent this from happening again. It's been a really hard day for all of us, Cas," Sam concluded.

"Should we really have left her alone in there? She doesn't have her knife, but we always have stuff on us. If we want to keep her safe we shouldn't let her be by herself. She could hurt herself again." Dean's voice was beginning to work itself up. He couldn't stand the thought of his baby sister cutting herself up like that. He would do anything in his power so she would never do it again. She might even hate him for it, but he didn't care. He cared way more about her safety than he did for his feelings. But he had no idea how to fix this. They'd never dealt with something like it before. Sammy had a breakdown because of Lucifer before, but that was something that could be fixed just by Cas helping. It was hell, but when it was over it was over. And although he didn't really understand what was going on in Casey's head, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't be over just by a hand on the forehead. No matter who's hand.

"She's fine alone. I'm listening to everything that's going on." Castiel saw Sam begin to frown. "We can debate the ethics of that later. It isn't important right now. How will you be keeping her safe? I'll do as much as I can, but you two are always with her."

"Well, I figure we can always make sure knives are out of bounds? Guns too," Sam suggested. Casey didn't mention being suicidal, but he didn't want to risk her life on what she didn't say.

"What if we're on a hunt? She already snuck off and, uh, did stuff before on us. And we can't leave her unarmed," Dean insisted.

"Dean, maybe we shouldn't go on any hunts for a while? This is a pretty vulnerable spot for her. We probably shouldn't be dragging her out in the face of danger right now." Sam's stomach tightened as a sickening thought began to form in his head. What if the hunts were what was causing her to do this? The murder, the guilt. That wasn't easy on him, and Casey was much younger. "Maybe we should take her out of hunting for a while in general. Maybe stick her up north with Jody? She's only fifteen. It might be that she can't handle all of it. It's pretty heavy stuff, Dean."

"You mean, you think we should leave her alone? This is the family business, Sammy. The family part is sticking. That whole 'ohana' crap ain't a joke, Sam. We aren't leaving her behind. If she can't hunt then we won't either," Dean contended. He would not leave his little sister. Every time they'd split up before things had gone wrong that wouldn't have gone wrong if they'd just stuck together. Even if Sammy wanted to keep hunting, nobody was going anywhere until Casey was feeling better. They were staying tied together until she was completely better. Whatever better might be.

"Every time we try to stop hunting something always comes after us. It's happened each time. From Stanford to Lisa and Ben. It always happens. You and I can't stop hunting. We've tried that."

"We're gonna try again anyways. We can hole up in the bunker for a couple months. Even Crowley can't get to us there. And if Cas wants in he can just call." Dean gestured to Castiel, who decided it was his turn to speak up.

"I know it's not entirely my place, but I agree with Dean. Hunting with Cassandra right now is probably the worst thing you could do for her. It could traumatize her even worse and escalate her issues. I believe she needs her family right now and potentially some new restrictions to keep her safe," he urged. "She wouldn't need any knives in the bunker. Or razors or anything." He added the last item hesitantly. He knew razor blades were oftentimes the staple tool of self inflicted wounds, but he didn't want to be too graphic and hurt the brothers even more.

It didn't matter though. Sam grimaced. They were going to have to confiscate a lot of things. Casey was going to pissed at them for it, too. Especially about her curling iron. On the road they'd never had much time for vanity, but since moving into the bunker Casey had saved up pennies and bought herself a curling iron, which she painstakingly used every morning to have a little taste of what the life of a normal teenage girl might feel like. "We're going to have to get rid of a lot of things. Dean's lighters are gonna need to be in lockup. The kitchen knives. Her shaving stuff."

"Her hair curler," Dean muttered. Sam saw the frustration in Dean's face about the iron too. That was going to be rough on all of them.

"Yeah. Her curling iron. Should- should we take away her door?" Sam worried. She was a teenage girl and she would want that privacy. Especially since privacy was still relatively new to them, she was going to be very protective of her space. Sam also wasn't exactly eager to know whatever she might want to keep private in there.

"I don't think so. That would break the trust that is becoming crucial right now," Castiel decided.

"We can keep her with us more often though. Keep alone time to a minimum during daylight hours," Dean suggested. Dean was territorial about his room. He'd decorated it exactly to his liking and knew he would be pissed if somebody took that sanctuary away from him. Casey couldn't be trusted on her own though. It made him sad to think, but she wasn't in a good place. Being forced to sit around her two big brothers twenty-four seven didn't sound preferable, but it was better than losing your door. He would disable the lock on it, though. She wasn't going to have that much privacy.

"That's a good idea. Keep her around until she's about to pass out, then let her go to her room." Sam liked that plan. She'd hate it, but it was the best she was going to get. "But search it before she goes in for the night. And lock up the painkillers."

"Painkillers? She didn't say anything about painkillers?" Dean refused to think about what Sam was implying. Not his little sister. At least, he didn't think so.

"She didn't say anything, but do you really want to take the chance that she's keeping an even worse secret and we didn't even consider it?" Sam asked carefully. They were all sensitive at the moment, but it had to be said. She wouldn't die because of their willingness to look away, no matter how much it hurt him to think about. Then there was the whiskey. It was a staple in the bunker. Not a very good one, but it felt necessary sometimes. "She's young too. You know, virgin liver?" The Winchesters, especially Dad and Dean, had ironclad tolerance, but Case was only fifteen. She couldn't even handle the shot Dean gave her, but Sam had been in that dark place. He knew that a burning throat wouldn't stop somebody.

"Alcohol poisoning," Dean muttered. He thought for a moment. Could he live without whiskey by his side? It would suck, but he didn't even have to question if he could live without Casey. That answer was a flat no. He'd lived once without Sammy and that was more than enough. "Alright. No more hunter's helper." He was settled. If he really wanted a drink he could go to a bar. He could survive without anything in the house.

"What about rope? I've seen... things happen with that, and I know you always keep an ample supply," hinted Cas. More than once had he seen the Heaven of someone with ligature marks around their neck. He was certain that life, humanity, was a gift, but he knew that for some people it felt like a curse. He wished that pain was easily fixed with some grace. That side of Heaven would be much quieter if it were so.

Sam sighed. "Okay. So, razors, curling iron, pills, lighters, rope." He ticked each thing off on his finger.

"Whiskey," Dean reminded him.

Sam looked at his brother with pity. That was going to be hard for him. He knew Dean would manage though. Maybe with a few punched in walls and a couple broken lamps, but he would manage. "Whiskey. Anything else?"

"The door needs to be locked. Nobody in, nobody out without our say so. She isn't going to run off some bridge or something because we weren't looking." His voice broke on the word bridge, although his resolution was absolute. "Baby's keys aren't leaving my pocket. That's the only car she's ever practiced driving on. She won't be able to figure out the sticks in the garage." There wasn't a lock into the garage, which was stupid, but there was a lock to drive something out of it. Sam could have that key. Neither of them would need it and Sam was better at hiding things. Relatively speaking. The issue with locking in a Winchester, though, was that they were all highly trained in how to escape. If she really wanted, he knew she'd be able to find away. He was going to use anything thing he could do to make her getaway slower.

Castiel nodded. "I can do my best to keep an eye on her whereabouts. Make sure you hide anything you can use for summoning. If she really wants to get out it's impossible to know what she might do."

"Desperate times...," Sam huffed.

"Yes. Desperate times call for desperate measures, which I'm afraid will be the biggest weakness to keeping her safe. And if she calls Crowley we know that he'll do anything to inconvenience us. Especially you two. No matter what the cost. I wouldn't be surprised if he helped her out without even asking for a deal."

"We have to let her out sometimes, though. Out to eat or something. She's going to be chomping at the bit and stone walls have never really worked well for any of us," Sam insisted.

Dean nodded once and opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel cut him off. "She's becoming upset and anxious. We should go inside."

"Anxious? About what?" Sam asked.

"She's afraid we're planning to hospitalize her," he said curtly. Castiel turned around and opened the door, only to find a tear-streaked Casey reaching for the knob. She looked up at the trio, towering over her. Casey had gotten used to being the shortest one a long time ago, but she'd never felt smaller in her life. She felt like an injured bunny surrounded in nile crocodiles, each one of them looking down at her expectantly, which brought on a fresh burst of tears.

"Please don't send me away," she sobbed, grabbing onto the first hands she could find, Castiel's and Dean's. "I'll be good. Please just let me stay. Don't send me away, please." Casey's knees began to buckle under her, but before she could fall Dean pulled her up and into a hug.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair, pressing a kiss into the deep chocolate strands. He rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. His poor broken sister. He was going to do everything in his power to make her okay again. Even if he had to cast a spell or make a deal. He didn't care. She was his responsibility. It was his job to protect her, and he was going to do his damndest. "We wouldn't even dream of it."


	9. Boundaries, Cas, Boundaries

She squeezed her brother tighter before letting go. "Casey, we wouldn't do that to you unless we really had to. You know that, right?" Sam looked earnestly at Casey. She nodded slowly. "We want to keep you safe by ourselves. But you have to work with us. If it's just me and Dean trying it's not gonna work. We'll end up frustrated and you'll just be pissed. Nothing will change. You have to help too," he pressed.

Casey nodded again and looked at the ground. "Is everything going to change now?" she whispered. She knew the answer already, but maybe, if she hoped enough, she would discover she was wrong and the boys would be content to keep pretending everything was alright and nothing had happened.

"Yeah, kiddo. It is. This obviously isn't working, so we've gotta change some things before we figure out our next move," Dean confirmed. He rubbed his free hand against the back of his head, taking comfort in the prickly buzz of his hair.

"How do we know what is going to work?" she asked.

"Trial and error probably," Sam interjected. "We know this doesn't work. So we can put this on the error list and figure out something different. How about we start our trials with having you talk to us?" His hint wasn't subtle, but he wanted to get the point across. There was no point in having family if you were going to walk the road alone anyway. Casey had family. It was small, but it was full of more love than the Bradys had. She had two brothers and an angel of the Lord on her side. If she couldn't talk to one of them, who was there to talk to?

Casey let out an exasperated huff and walked back into the room, dropping onto one of the beds. "I don't want to talk. About any of this. I just want things to be normal again."

The three followed her lead into the bedroom. Sam sat beside her, Dean rested on a chair, and Castiel stood awkwardly by the door.

"That's too bad, sister. You got three pairs of ears waiting for you, right here." Dean rested his ankle on top of his other knee and leaned back, waiting for her to speak.

There was a strong thirty seconds of silence before Castiel decided he should begin. "Would you rather speak to one of us individually?" Casey shook her head. "Would you prefer me to not be here? I understand that this is a family matter. I won't be offended if that is the case."

Casey shook her head fiercely. "Castiel, you are family."

Castiel smiled softly. "I consider you to be my family as well, Cassandra. Why don't you want to talk, though? We aren't going to judge you. We only want to know what's going on. What's making you so sad that you feel the need to hurt yourself?"

Casey paused for a moment and fiddled with her thumbs. She shrugged. "I don't know, I guess. I get overwhelmed. And this helps. It always has," she replied. She seriously did not want to have this discussion. Hadn't the day been long enough already? Why drag it out even more? And what was the point of explaining what they wouldn't understand? It would only end up making somebody mad or hurting somebody's feelings, probably both.

"How long has this been happening, Casey?" Sam asked coolly, trying to detach himself from the conversation before he became too full of emotion.

She pursed her lips. "Six years." The room went stone still. If it was quiet before, it was like the bottom of Mariana's trench with the voidance of sound in the room. The first noise to break the tension was the creak of the desk chair spinning. Everybody's heads snapped up to see that Dean had twirled it to face the wall. One hand went up to his face briefly, then he tilted his head toward the sky, like he was praying. It took Casey a moment to realize that he wasn't praying, but trying to pull tears back into his eyes before they had the chance to fall. An invisible bocce ball was blasted into her stomach, taking her breath away and making her gasp sharply to find some air to fill her lungs. Dean was crying. She'd made Dean cry.

"You were freakin' nine?" he asked, voice cracking some. Dean didn't turn his chair around to speak, but leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. "You started doing this to yourself when you were nine? And we never noticed? Nobody ever noticed?" Dean was horrified. What good was a big brother, two big brothers, when they didn't even see that anything was wrong. Something was wrong for six years before either of them noticed.

"I don't know. I didn't want anyone to notice. I figured eventually I would stop and it would all be okay, but...,"

"But you didn't stop," Sam volunteered.

Casey nodded. "I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. It's like I can be almost okay and then next thing I know I start panicking and the only thing that can bring me back down is that. It's the only thing that works," she confessed while looking at Sam's knees. The fabric on them was thin from years of wear and hard labor, mirroring the man inside them and everybody else in the room. They looked just as beat down as Casey felt. She looked up at Sam's face and absorbed his big hazel eyes. Sam's eyes had always reminded her of the big soft eyes of a mother cow when she looked at her calf. They were always full of love and sincerity. They obviously had his signature puppy look to them, but the familiarity just reminded her of a loving mama cow, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. She would never tell him that, though.

She looked to her oldest brother. Dean's eyes were, as always, saturated in ferocity for anything regarding his family. Casey hoped that when she one day, if she one day, had her own family she would carry the same level of dedication to them that Dean had for her and Sammy. He was also staring at her wrists. They were gone, but Casey knew he was seeing the scars as if they were there, still, in high definition, and blaming himself for every one of them. His brow was tight. He looked up and met eyes with Casey and ran a hand through his short hair, erasing the sheer anger from his face as well as possible.

"Kid, these are things you shouldn't keep to yourself." He fastened Casey with a flinty look, layered with gloom and consternation he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Casey shrugged, unsure of what to say next. "Well, I did. And here we are," she observed, void of amusement.

"Here we are," Dean echoed quietly, mussing his hair even more.

They were all silent for a moment. Casey didn't know what came after your worst nightmares come true. She knew they wouldn't move on and forget like she'd hoped. They'd probably discussed what to do with her outside. She was sure that whatever they'd discussed she wasn't going to like it. She already felt naked knowing her knife wasn't tucked safely in her boot where it belonged, but hidden from her. And that could only be the beginning. "So, now what?" She asked the question that was glaring them all in the face. They knew what, they were just waiting for her to ask.

Sam cleared his throat. "Well, we're going to go back to the bunker and take a break from hunting.

Her eyes widened. "We're in the middle of a hunt!" she insisted. "We just drove how many hours to get here and you want to go back already? Besides, we can't quit hunting. We'll go stir crazy and kill each other." She stood and planted her hands on her hips. They couldn't take breaks from hunting and all four of them knew it.

"We can call in some other hunters to take care of it. Casey, you need a break. That's okay. And we can do some other stuff. There's always research to be done. And-"  
Casey cut Sam off. "Oh, yeah, Sammy. That's what I want to do. Research. I'm sure research is going to make me feel way better."

Dean unfolded his legs, losing the forced casualness of his pose. "Well, obviously hunting hasn't made you feel too great, has it?" Dean retorted back, glaring at her arms. It felt like a direct hit to her chest, the insult pushing her back to sitting on the bed. Even her brother thought she was an idiot. He didn't say it in as many words, but it was obvious what he was implying. You felt like crap so you did something stupid, it screamed at her. I know. I'm an idiot. She felt her face begin to burn with shame.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, shooting him a knock-it-off look. "I'm not saying we have to do research. We can do anything you want. Just not hunting." He tried to give Casey a comforting smile, but her eyes were fastened tightly to the ugly carpeting and her face was turning a brilliant shade of red. "Casey?"

"I want to go to bed. That's what I want right now," she mumbled. She stood and moved to the other bed and crawled into the covers. "Thank you again, Cas," she said quietly before sinking deeper into the blankets.

Castiel walked over to her. "You're welcome. If you need anything please call me." He placed a hand on her cheek and smiled at her. She forced a small smile back. Castiel placed two fingers on her forehead and she fell asleep immediately.

"Cas, why did you do that?" Sam demanded.

"To help her sleep without trouble. She was exhausted," he explained.

"Cas, you can't just go putting people to sleep without their permission," Dean said with exasperation. They were all exhausted, and he needed a drink. He wanted more than the four hours of hunter's sleep he usually got. Dean stood slowly, stretching his legs out, and walked to the bathroom sink to pour himself a shot of whiskey in a flimsy plastic cup. He held out his cup. "Anyone else?" he offered.

Sam considered for a moment while Dean threw his back. "I think we should start heading home while she's asleep. We'd cut a few hours off her being bored, and if she's still asleep when we get there we can start clearing out the house before she has the chance to argue."

"I used a lot of grace on her so she'll sleep for a while, but if she wakes up I can always put her back to sleep. If she wants. I don't want to force her asleep if she doesn't want. Again," Castiel suggested. He looked at Casey's sleeping form. She was facing the wall, her breathing slow and even. It was the first time all day without hearing the persistent stream of self hatred and pain pounding against her skull; it felt like the silence you heard directly after a loud air conditioner finally shut down, strong and relieving.

"I'll start the car." Dean stood and pulled baby's keys out of his pocket. Sam stood with him and put a hand on his keys.

"Dean, you look like you're going to pass out. Plus, I don't exactly think you're in the best state for driving. I can take her," Sam hinted. Dean sighed and released the keys, looking at Castiel.

"Fine, but I get shotgun."

"I'd prefer to ride in the back with Casey. That way if she starts to unsettle I can calm her down," noted Cas. He went to Casey's side and scooped her up easily. She didn't weigh more than a feather to him. Although she was long, she was easy to carry. He could smell the blood on her clothes and set her back down in as much as a sitting up position he could manage while she was unconscious. She slumped forward as Castiel pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it in the sink.

"Uh, Cas, what are you doing?" Sam looked away from Castiel and his sister, his stomach hitting the back of his throat. Apparently after Sam was finished checking her out she decided she didn't need to wear a bra. Dean looked up from his second glass of whiskey and choked.

"Cas!" he snarled. "That's my sister!"

Castiel ignored both brothers. He'd seen enough of humanity to be unaffected by Casey's small body. It was just another body to him, a body with a soul inside that he loved very dearly, but a body all the same. He knew, though, that were Casey awake she would be mortified to know that her brothers had witnessed her undressing, so he moved closer to her and turned around so her breasts were hidden against the back of his trench coat. He scanned the room and saw her duffle beside the bathroom door. "Dean, will you please hand me a clean shirt. That one is soaked in blood. When she wakes up she doesn't need that much of a reminder of what happened." He supposed he could have told them what he was up to before stripping her down, but he didn't think it was important at the time. Sometimes he forgot humans had firm boundaries, and he realized he'd accidentally passed one of them again. He could apologize after Casey was clothed again.

Dean's shoulders tightened and he rolled them back as a small shivered rippled through them. He pulled off his flannel and handed it to Castiel, who buttoned Casey into it, trying very hard to keep her modesty, for both her and her brother's sakes. Cas turned around. "I'm sorry. I didn't think very thoroughly before undressing her. I noticed that she needed a new shirt and decided to act on it," he confessed.

"Yeah, Cas. Ya think?" Sam snapped.   
"Boundaries, Cas. Boundaries." Dean shook his head. Castiel shot him a frown.

"It's better this way, anyway. The scent of one of you two might keep her in a more peaceful sleep because her subconscious will relay it back to feelings of love and comfort," he finished. Castiel had always wished he'd had a scent, but angels didn't produce sweat or pheromones, there was nothing to smell unless there was a previous scent clinging to him. He found it fascinating how different each human smelled. He lifted Casey up again, thinking about how she always smelled like dandelions and cinnamon and orange shampoo.

"I'll get the car," Sam decided and left the room. Dean shoved Casey's clothes back into her bag and started putting away his toiletries. Cas looked at Dean in the mirror.

"How are you, Dean?" he asked earnestly. He was surprised Dean was handling this as well as he was, but knew there must be a thunderstorm of emotions brewing inside him.

"I'm fine," he huffed, cramming his toothpaste into his backpack.

"No, you aren't." Castiel didn't care to hear his lie.

Dean whirled around, his eyes were red. "No, Cas, I'm not. Today I had to watch my little sister get stitches and hold her so she didn't squirm around too much. I had to see her torn up arms and years of scarring that I didn't even know about. Then, because the stitches hurt too bad, I had to call up my angel so he could heal her. Six years, Cas. I'm not fine because she hasn't been fine for six years and I was too much of a crap big brother to see that!" Dean's breathing was harsh, the vein in his neck popped out and his fists were clenched.

"People who hurt themselves often go to extremes to make sure nobody finds out," Castiel reminded him calmly. "That doesn't make you a crap brother."

"It's not even that. Yeah, she could hide the actual marks, but how could I not notice she was feeling that badly? For years. She hasn't felt right since she was nine. She had two brothers, her dad, and Bobby that could have noticed and none of us suspected anything was wrong once." Dean zipped his bag up and slung his and Casey's over his shoulder as they heard the Impala pull up. He scanned the room once to make sure they had everything, then stomped out the door, letting it slam behind him. Castiel would have been frustrated that Dean was being so loud while he was carrying a sleeping girl, but both of them knew that she wouldn't wake up from an angel induced sleep until it wore off or Castiel woke her up himself.

Castiel carried her out of the room and opened the door without touching it and tucked Casey into the car, setting her across the backseat. Castiel went in through the other door and lifted Casey's head while he sat, then sat it gently on his lap. Castiel stroked her hair gently. He would have rather zapped himself and her to the bunker, but his damaged wings wouldn't allow him, so he sat quietly while Baby crackled across the gravelly parking lot onto the smooth road, making sure Casey dreamt beautiful dreams the entire way home.


	10. Ground Rules

Casey gasped awake and found her face hitting into a firm surface. She realized that she was being laid down. She looked up and was greeted with confused blue eyes. "Cas?"

"Um, yes." He finished putting her down, his face was saturated in chagrin. Casey looked around and realized she was in her own bed back in the bunker. "You were asleep," Cas explained slowly. He hadn't planned on her waking up so early, although the fact that she hadn't woken up in the car the whole ride was a minor miracle in itself. Castiel found himself fidgeting three hours in; he figured she would've woken up by his bouncing legs alone. Long drives made Cas yearn for his wings even more than usual.

"How'd we get here so fast?" Casey rubbed her eyes. "Where are my brothers?" One second she was asleep in the motel and the next Castiel was putting her in her own bed. And he couldn't zap anymore

"You were asleep the whole time," Castiel explained shortly. He wasn't lying. Casey had been asleep the whole time, he just didn't think she needed to know that it was angel-induced. Although he didn't want to tell her where Sam and Dean were. They were in the bunker, but he knew they hadn't had nearly enough time to completely remove anything that Casey might use to harm herself. Cas knew he had to stall, but he wasn't entirely sure how. He couldn't leave Casey alone, she was too vulnerable and her room hadn't been cleared. And, being a hunter, Castiel was sure she would have hidden at least three knives and a gun around her room. The bunker was supposedly monster proof, but hunters never took anything on word alone. They were always armed. He couldn't leave her and she couldn't leave the room. Not until one of the brothers had given the word. "They're busy." Was that really all he could come up with?

Casey raised an eyebrow. "They're busy?" Casey sat straight up. Castiel was hiding something, and 'they're busy' was not about to cut the mustard. "Busy with what, Cas?

"Cleaning," Cas said shortly. Again, not a lie, only nonspecific.

"Is that so? Dean is cleaning?" Dean didn't clean. If the bunker was going to be cleaned it would either be Sam or her doing the cleaning. Usually her because they'd left her alone on a hunt they deemed was too dangerous.

"I assume it's mostly Sam," Cas admitted after some consideration. In normal circumstances it would be mostly Sam, but Dean would go to the ends of the Earth to protect his family. Cas was sure he was being as thorough, if not more, than Sam. Dean's first stop as soon as they'd walked in was removing the armory from his walls. Although he loved his personalized bedroom, family came first.

"I'm going to talk to him." Casey swung her legs off the bed, but Cas picked them up and swung her back onto the mattress before her feet touched the ground. Casey grunted. "Cas, what the hell?"

"It's better for you to stay here for the moment," Castiel objected. He placed himself in front of her legs so she couldn't move them past him. If she were to attempt to get off the bed she would have to dive forward onto her hands and crawl, which would be inefficient and he would be able to pick her up before she had the chance to leave the room. Trying to rush past an angel was pointless.

Casey frowned. "I'm seeing my brother, Castiel. Move," she ordered. Castiel didn't scoot an inch. "Cas," she growled. "Let me see Sam." Her face was taking on an angry blush across her nose and cheeks.

"You're too weak," he insisted. There was no sense in that statement, although it did seem like a good reason were it believable. 

"No, I'm not. You healed me. Why don't you want me to see him?" Casey figured that after such an eventful day everyone would want her to be around her family even more than usual.

Castiel sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He couldn't tell her what they were doing. She would be furious and insist that she was fine, probably including tears to move them in her favor. If there was anything Sam and Dean couldn't take it was the tears of their baby sister. Casey was surprised she wasn't spoiled rotten because of it. Even if it's pretty hard for a poor kid to be spoiled, she could've milked it for all she was worth.

"Because, they're busy. Dean brought home a woman and Sam is doing research." So those were blatant lies, but Cas didn't see anyway around it. Both were normal things for each of them to do.

Casey relaxed herself down. "Ew. TMI," Casey conceded. She paused a moment, then sat back up. "I'll help Sam. I need to talk to him."

Castiel silently swore in Enochian. He really thought that would've worked. Maybe he should've said Sam had a woman. He didn't very often and it wasn't very believable, especially after recent events, but it was a better excuse than cleaning. Castiel sighed. "Sam can't talk to you right now. He'll come talk when he's done."

"Done with what?" Casey was suspicious. Why didn't Castiel want her to see her brother? After everything yesterday she figured he'd want her to get as much support as possible, but the stressed look on his face almost made her drop the subject. Almost. "Cas, I want to talk to my brother. Please?"

"Why don't you talk to me? I've always enjoyed our talks," Castiel suggested. He knew Casey enjoyed them too, although he also knew this was different.

"Because Sam understands what I'm going through. Sam understands how pain can make things... real. It brings me back to Earth and Sam gets that. He did it with the scar when Lucifer was screwing with him. I just kind of do it in a different way to cope with different pain. Sam understands what you and Dean don't this time," Casey admitted. She felt bad pointing out Castiel's emotional or verbal shortcomings, but she had to get her point across. She wanted to talk to her brother. He wanted to allow her to, but he wanted her to be safe. He didn't want her wandering the bunker alone with all the weapons they had laying around, even if she was just going to talk to Sam. She might sneak a knife into her pocket. Winchesters were trained to sneak, it didn't take an expert to figure that out.

"I'm sorry, Casey. You just need to wait right now," he concluded. Angels didn't need sleep, but he felt exhausted. Casey huffed, realizing that there was no way she was going to be able to talk to her brother until Castiel decided she could. Castiel sat on the end of the bed and looked at Casey, trying to read her face for emotions. All he saw was sadness. It was saturated her features until it was practically dripping from her pores. He wanted to know what she was thinking, but it would be rude to look. So he decided to ask instead. "How are you, Casey?" Casey looked up at him, skepticism showing in her lowered eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know if you're okay." It was like her entire family was allergic to that question. It was a simple question. He just wanted to know how she felt.

"Do you think I'm okay?" She sounded just like Dean. Her angry face looked like his too. She had tiny habits she picked up from both of the brothers. If you spent an hour with the three of them you could pick out which brother she was emulating each time, whether it be body language or how they dealt with their emotions. Casey took the Dean route in the emotional department; destruction.

"I would assume from your sarcasm and the events from last night, no. But why aren't you feeling okay now? You have a support system now and you don't have to keep this a secret anymore."

Casey looked down and pulled her knees to her chest. She pulled a blanket up around her, tucking her toes tight. "I didn't want a support system, Cas," she growled. "I wanted to be left alone and doing what I wanted. Now everybody knows. The biggest secret of my life and everybody knows. Sam wasn't even supposed to tell anybody in the first place, and now you know and my other brother freakin' knows!" Her voice began to rise. Her eyes shot daggers into Castiel. "Now we have to stop hunting and they took my knife away. They're never going to trust me again and it's my fault! Now they're gonna want to babysit me and never leave me alone. I'm fifteen, Cas. I need my privacy. I don't want some makeshift hospital suicide watch. I just want things to be normal. I'm not okay, Castiel. I'm pissed."

He could see tears start to build in her eyes and he felt bad for her. She didn't even know about the other restrictions yet and already she was overwhelmed by them. Sam and Dean were the most concerned about her curling iron, but Castiel had a feeling that wasn't going to be her biggest issue. He believed being stuck without a hunt for however long would be her biggest trial. "They just want to keep you safe, Cassandra. It will be hard at first, but in the end it will be better this way." He rested a hand on her leg in an effort to comfort her. His people skills were rusty, but he knew touch was always helpful when somebody was sad. He scrutinized her face. She looked up and blinked to keep herself from crying, another Dean trait. She brought her head back down after a minute, eyes mostly dry, but still red.

"I'm so goddamn scared, Cas," she whispered, pulling her legs even closer and wrapping her arms around them. Castiel placed his hand back on his lap and folded them.

"I know you are. But we're going to make sure this is okay."

"We are," a voice confirmed from the doorway. Casey looked up from her toes.

"Sam!" She smiled widely. Dean peaked around the corner and walked past Sam and leaned on the doorway. "Dean! Where have you guys been?" Her smile faded as she thought about the last twenty-four hours they'd just had together. Her excitement vanished and her stomach fell to her tailbone.

"We've been out there." Sam walked in and gave her a soft smile. Immediately Casey knew something else was up. "Can we talk in the library?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why don't we just talk in here?"

"There's more room for everybody in the library," Sam lied smoothly.

"I'd rather talk in here," she maintained.

Dean ran a hand over his short hair. His frustration and exhaustion were catching up to him. "Casey, we're going to the library? Either you come or I'm gonna carry you," he threatened. Casey raised her eyebrows and smirked, daring him. Dean shook his head and walked over to his little sister, picked her up, and swung her over his shoulder.

"Dean!" she yelled. She punched his back, embarrassed to have her butt in the air.

"I told you we were going to the library," he retorted.

Casey laughed. She hadn't been carried like this in ages. She knew she was too old to be carried, but that was part of why he did it. She wanted to feel young and happy again. And if that meant being upside down while your brother marched you into another room then so be it. It was childish and probably even a little selfish to play games or test his convictions, but it made her feel like her family didn't know her dark secret anymore. Like they still saw her as the peachy Casey they'd seen only two days ago.

Dean walked through the hallway and into the library, hopping on the step down to bounce his little sister. She grunted and let out a laugh that reminded him of when she was little. She was still extremely young, but she hadn't had much of a childhood. Maybe that was part of what caused her problem. Sammy did say it sounded a lot like depression. He also said that it couldn't be fixed with some love and happiness, but Dean figured it wouldn't hurt to toss some in there anyway.

Dean threw her down on the couch and she let out all her air in a loud whoosh and smiled up at her brother. "Jerk."

"That's my line," Sam cut in, passing Dean to sit beside Casey on the couch.

Dean looked at Sam. "Bitch," he said affectionately and rolled his eyes. Dean pulled a soft chair in closer to Sam and Casey, putting them in a private triangle.

Casey assessed the room and noticed something was missing. "Where's Cas?"

"He'll be here in a minute," Sam assured her and rested a hand on her knee. Castiel was searching Casey's bedroom for potential weapons. Where Sam and Dean might find themselves uncomfortable by whatever they might find, Castiel was pretty good at remaining neutral to all things they might consider disturbing for their sister to have. Sam voted for Castiel partially because he knew that if Casey had a journal and he was the one to find it he wouldn't be able to help himself from reading it. He also wanted Cas to do it because he would make completely sure that there was nothing she could hurt herself with as well as making sure everything he hadn't confiscated was placed exactly where it was before. Castiel could be anal to a fault, sometimes it was nice to have it to their advantage every now and then. "Dean and I have to talk to you first though. Privately."

Casey swallowed thickly. Privately. That word was never a word used in fond sentiments. Casey originally only wanted to speak with Sam, but having Castiel in the room was sounding more appealing after finding out they didn't want him in. "Cas can come," she said quietly, scooting away from Sam some.

"Casey, we gotta talk. We gotta set up some ground rules. Cas is just helping us make sure everything is in place," Dean explained.

Casey raised her eyebrow. "Ground rules?" Here it came. She knew that her privacy was going to be gone. She wished her body was all screwed up so that when they broke the news that they were never going to trust her again she could go to the bathroom and cut some more and they wouldn't be able to tell.

"Yeah, Casey," Sam sighed. "Ground rules."


	11. Deal?

"Okay," she said slowly. Nothing about 'ground rules' sounded preferable. "What kind of ground rules are we talkin' here?"

Sam looked at his hands resting in his lap, his face was full of perturbation. Dean didn't say anything either. Neither of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news. They both knew Casey would feel no remorse for shooting the messenger, because now they were also her jailers.

Sam was surprised when Dean cleared his throat. "Case," he began, but was unable to think of what he wanted to say. There were a million things he wanted to say, but there was hardly a way to say them. Personally, he wanted to tie Casey to a chair and make her watch Disney movies and Westerns and feed her burgers and pie until she was happy, but Sam said that 'wasn't conductive' for a healthy life.

Sam stepped up to the plate. Dean could see him bracing himself for the fit Casey was going to throw. "Casey, we need to make some changes. Because what we're doing right now isn't working and we want to do everything we can do to keep you safe."

"Even if it sucks," Dean interjected.

"Yeah. Even if it sucks." Sam stopped. Casey wasn't sure how to interpret their faces. They were cautious. Both Sam and Dean were stuck in their own volumes of words to figure out how to appropriately phrase whatever it was they wanted to say. By the time it was taking them, she didn't feel good about what they were going to do.

Casey didn't realize she was holding her breath until she gasped for oxygen suddenly. The boys looked up from their internal monologues, worried. If things hadn't been so serious recently she would've laughed at how nervous they looked just because she'd inhaled funny. They seemed to think that anything she did strangely meant she was going to run into a forest and hurt herself. She didn't exactly have the best track record lately of not doing that, but she found it ridiculous that both of them felt the need to make sure she wasn't dying just because of a gasp. "So. What's the verdict?"

"No hunting," Sam remarked.

Casey rolled her eyes. "We covered that, Sammy. What aren't you guys telling me? You look constipated."

"We're... clearing out some stuff for awhile," stated Dean bluntly. "We don't want you to hurt yourself so we're putting up some new rules. No knives, guns, lighters. None of that crap around the house for now." It was better to say straight up. No more beating around the bush. Casey was a lot like Dean in that way. She couldn't stand to be danced around like a wounded animal. She was a teenager, she could handle the ugly truth. Even if she didn't want to.

Casey didn't react. She stared directly into Dean's eyes, unreadable in her face. She was waiting for him to continue before she smacked him upside the head.

"And we want you to spend more time outside your room," Sam added circumspectly. She was too calm for his comfort. Her head snapped over to him. Her eyes were sharp. She was looking at him like an owl looked at prey, assessing for a good time to begin her descent. Sam looked over at Dean for support. Casey was right- he did look constipated. Sam felt constipated.

"No more hiding out in your cave. When it's daytime you need to be out. Kitchen, library, living room. I don't care, just not locked away in your room," Dean reiterated.

She looked down at the ground. She realized now that she was on suicide watch, just like she told Cas. Cutter watch. "No, thank you," she said quietly.

"No, thank you?"

"Yeah, that isn't going to work for me. I think I'm going to go to bed now." Casey stood. Dean was faster though and pushed her down with a hand on her shoulder.

"It doesn't matter if it's going to 'work for you'. It's what's happening." Dean gave her a stern look.

Casey pushed his hand off her shoulder and slid further away from Sam. "No, it's not. You're being ridiculous. I don't need this suicide watch crap, and even if I did, we're hunters. You can't hide everything like that. What if something happens? Salt can't protect us from everything. Are you going to pad the walls too?" Casey stood up as she spoke and put her hands on her hips. She was stringy and young and sometimes that made it difficult for Dean to take her seriously, but he could tell she was furious this time. There was a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen lately. It made him realize that maybe there were signs of her depression and he just hadn't noticed them. It put a surge of guilt through his gut that made him feel nauseous.

"We aren't padding the walls, Casey. This is just temporary." Sam tried to put on a reassuring voice with a comforting smile, but if looks could kill, the one Casey shot him would have decapitated him faster than a katana on a vamp

"Temporary? How long is temporary, Sammy? Until you guys decide I'm not crazy anymore?" she hissed.

"Case, you aren't crazy. You're going through a rough time. We just want to help," he insisted. He grabbed onto her hand in an attempt to have her sit back down, but she ripped it away and held it to her chest.

"Did you read that from a magazine? What to say to your cutter sister? I don't need help. I need to be left alone. I'll talk to you guys if I'm not okay, alright?" Casey was angry. She couldn't believe her brothers were pulling this crap? They never hid the whiskey from Dean. Lord knew Sammy had his own personal fountain of demon blood, and that addiction was way worse than a little self harm. It started the freakin' apocalypse. She knew she'd just slept for what must have been over twelve hours, but Casey wanted to go back to bed more than anything. She wanted to be left alone. She knew her brothers had a reason for freaking out and going all Girl, Interrupted on her, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed. They didn't trust her anymore. That hurt.

"Why didn't you talk to us before then?" Sam asked calmly.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. "Because I didn't want you guys to think I was crazy! I have brothers that love me and a home now and I love what we do and we help people but I'm never happy so I turned to this! I don't even have a reason to be unhappy- I just am. And you guys always have so much crap going on. I'm just the little sister that tags along and I didn't want to get in the way again. You guys fixed the world again and again and I can't even handle a little sadness without this." Casey shoved her arms at Sam's face. Sam cringed even though they were clean. The memory of his little sister covered in her own wounds would never leave his head. Casey sobbed and her tears began to fall as she lowered her arms again. "I didn't want you to think I was crazy," she mumbled, softly lowering herself onto the far side of the couch before wrapping her arms around her torso and crying quietly. 

Sam wanted to slide next to Casey and pull her tight into his arms, then thought better of it. There were types of vulnerable that needed touch and there were types of vulnerable that needed space. Sam was pretty sure this was the latter.

"Casey, we don't think you're crazy. You've seen the stuff we do- crazy doesn't even begin to cover it. We think that you need help," Sam said gently.

Dean sat back in his chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "We just don't want to see this happen anymore, kiddo. This ain't forever. We'd all go crazy if we had to stop hunting for good. This is so we can figure out what to do next and how to prevent this from happening again," he assured her with a half smile that she caught as she looked up from her toes.

"And the stuff will obviously come back. It's just going to be out until we can figure out what causes these urges and some better ways to handle them," Sam explained. He had a remorseful look on his face, but she could tell he was only doing what he thought was best, even though she found it completely moronic.

She considered their promises for a few seconds before speaking. "Only for a little while?"

Sam nodded. "Only for a little while."

"Then we can start hunting again?" She wasn't going to leave room for any of his law school loopholes. Her brothers were famous for lying without lying, and she wasn't having that this time around.

"Then we can start hunting again," Sam repeated.

"And I can have my knives back?" she questioned slowly.

Neither brother said anything for a moment before Dean cleared his throat. "We're keeping the knives for now, but you can have them when we're hunting."

Casey began to argue, but then realized that was the best deal she was going to get. If she needed a knife in the middle of the night, her brother's rooms were right next door. If she really needed to, she supposed she could call Castiel too. "Fine," she sighed. A thought popped into her head then that shot her spine straight. "I'm keeping my curling iron. That isn't up for debate."

It was Sam's turn to sigh. "Casey...," he began.

Her head snapped to Sam's face. "No, Sammy. I'm keeping my curling iron. I have lost my privacy, my knives, and my hunting today. I'm keeping my curling iron, and that's that," she emphasized. They'd just gotten the ability to pamper themselves a little and she'd hustled pool and darts like a champion for weeks before she'd saved up enough extra cash for a curling iron. Having her hair done was her pride and joy. They were not taking that away from her.

"Casey, we don't want you to hurt yourself," Sam reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know the party line. Do you really think I'd risk my curler for that though?"

Dean decided that did make sense. Sam started to speak, but he cut him off. "Sam." He fixed Sam with a look, then they started their strange brotherly silent communication that drove everyone else around them nuts. Sam was hesitant, but finally nodded Dean his silent agreement.

"You can have your hair curler-," Dean started.

"Yes!" Casey's face broke into a smile, but her celebration was halted when Dean held up his hand to signal his continuation.

"But, you have to get checked every other day. That means short sleeves around the bunker, stomach and leg checks every other. We aren't gonna make you strip down to your socks, but we're risking your curling iron, so those are your choices," he concluded.

Casey hopped up then spit in her hand and offered it out to Dean. "Deal."

Dean grimaced and rolled his eyes, but spit in his own hand and joined it with hers. "Deal."


	12. Memory Foam

Castiel walked in from the hallway to see the two in handshake. He looked at them, puzzled.

"Dean said I can keep my curling iron!" Casey explained with a grin.

"Oh," Castiel said plainly. "I'll return that to your room then." He began to leave then halted and turned back to them. His face was intense, as if there was a very urgent matter that needed addressing. "I don't understand the purpose of a curling iron. Isn't an iron supposed to flatten something out?"

Casey's smile deepened. "Not this kind, Cas." Cas gave an affirmative nod and continued back to Casey's room again.

She turned back to her brothers who still looked exasperated. Casey was content because she was able to keep her curling iron, which she supposed wasn't that great once you remembered the whole picture. 'My brothers are taking away all my stuff because I self harm, but they're letting me keep my curling iron as long as I submit to body checks every other day wasn't nearly as joyful when put that way.' She sat on the couch, closer to Sam this time. She felt like he needed more comfort than she did, or at least needed more comfort than she wanted, so she rested a hand on his leg. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy," she promised him, giving his knee a firm squeeze.

He rested his enormous palm on hers. "Dean and I are going to make sure of that."

Castiel reentered the room, sporting a sober look not unlike her brothers'. He looked over Casey intentionally and addressed her brothers. "Everything is cleared out." He constrained himself and looked at Casey. It hurt him to see her. Her arms covered in wounds, deep, deep wounds that she'd given herself, was cemented in his mind. He'd taken so long cleaning out her room because he'd been staring at a picture of Sam, Dean, Bobby, and her. She was smiling and wearing Bobby's hat while his arm was blurred and reaching across the photo to retrieve it. Castiel had spent several minutes sitting on her bed trying to replace the image of bloody, crying Casey with this smiling version, to no avail. He forced a smile on his face. He didn't want her to think he was upset with her. He was upset with himself. An angel of the Lord should have been able to pick up on something so serious.

"Did you tell her the new rules?" he asked coolly.

Everyone was mute for an uncomfortable period of time. Casey didn't want to think about them and Dean and Sam didn't want to bring them up right away. They wanted to keep everything as normal as possible for her. Neither of them wanted her to feel like she was on constant observation, they just want to make sure she was safe and felt supported.

Sam nodded at Castiel then spoke. "We should watch a movie. It's been a long day," Sam stood and went to a shelf with some movies on it. They didn't own a lot, and what they did own were mostly Westerns, but they couldn't hunt and they needed something to do to take their minds off what was going on. Sam began rifling through them before turning to Casey. "John Wayne or Clint Eastwood?"

Casey rolled her eyes. "Stephen King?" she asked hopefully, knowing they didn't own any already. Maybe Sam had gone to the store and taken pity on her while they were driving.

"No," Dean said definitively. He hated scary movies. Monsters and demons he could deal with. Regular human murderers stalking and killing just for fun? That freaked him out. It bugged him knowing that some people would take lives without a second glance. He thought that was more unnerving than a werewolf. Monsters were bad, but at least they had an excuse. Kind of. 

Sam shrugged. "Sorry, Case."

She sighed and stretched out into Sam's spot. "Do we have any new reading material? Or at least any money to go get some?" Casey preferred movies based on books. She always had to read the book first, but she liked seeing the movies after and double checking the consistency.

He considered for a moment. "We still have about three-hundred before we max out this card, I think. We could run to pick some up."  
Dean leaned back, content enough to relax some and let go of some of the tension he'd been holding since finding out about Casey's problem. "You dorks can go book shopping. I'm gonna take a nap. I could use a little memory foam right about now." He stood and went to another shelf and pulled out a thick book. He slid a magazine out from between the pages and slyly snuck into his room, but not before Casey saw that it was a Busty Asian Beauties. She shuddered. Sometimes her brothers really disgusted her.

Sam grabbed his laptop off the coffee table. "I'm gonna look up used bookstores in the area. Do you want to start getting ready?" he suggested.

She smiled at him, excited to finally get her hands on new material. Casey decided she also wanted to take a shower. She felt like she'd been wearing pajamas for three years rather than half a day, although she did like wearing Dean's enormous shirt. Wait a minute, she'd had on Bon Jovi before. But she'd gotten blood on it. She didn't remember changing, though, which meant somebody had stripped her down. From her pajama shirt. Under which she was free-boobing. Sam had seen her in her underwear yesterday, but bare boobage was completely different, and she would just about die if either of her brothers had seen her topless. She was fifteen, well past the age where it wasn't weird, even if she was their baby sister.

"Hey, who changed my shirt last night?" she asked cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. The answer was bound to be mortifying either way. One of them had seen her though, and she wanted to know who to avoid.

Castiel cleared his throat, causing Casey to turn her head. His face was full of sheepishness. "That was me," he confessed. He'd really been hoping she'd chock it up to one of her brothers and not ask about it, but he wasn't going to lie to her and have either Sam or Dean suffer the consequences.

Casey let out a gush of relieved air. "Thank God," she sighed. "If my brothers saw me shirtless I would probably have died." Castiel seeing her shirtless wasn't ideal, but it was the lesser of two evil.

Castiel decided she didn't need to know her brothers had accidentally caught a glimpse. 

Casey left the room and Cas turned to Sam. "How did she take it?"

Sam shrugged. "She's pissed, but she won't show it. I just hope it doesn't push her away, you know? All these rules, I'd be mad too, but she can't be alone right now." He sat heavily on the couch with his computer resting in his lap. He put his head in one of his hands, silently wishing he could take a nap too, even though he knew he'd never be able to sleep. There were a million thoughts buzzing around his head, the first one being why? But Casey was counting on him to bring her to the bookstore, and he'd be damned if he let her down again. He was going to make sure she was never disappointed on his watch anymore. He would do anything to make sure she stayed clean of this addiction, so he began his online hunt.

When Casey walked into her room she could feel that it was different. Everything was in exactly the correct place, but she felt empty knowing that all her private weapons were gone. She searched the dresser and her closet. All of her make up bags and her few other possessions. She felt her cheeks redden in shame when she realized the razor blades she'd taped underneath her bed were missing too. There was no other reason for a hunter to have blades like that. Sam and Dean sure didn't own any. Casey felt naked when she realized Cas had taken her gun too. She knew she most likely wouldn't need one, the bunker was monster proof, but she always kept one under her pillow just in case. If Castiel could flit in and out of the bunker as he pleased, so could other angels. And other angels were dicks. A regular gun couldn't kill one, but it would be harder for an angel to walk with blown out kneecaps.


	13. Three Minutes

She also felt violated. Cas had rifled through everything she owned and taken her most private possessions. She didn't own a lot, but after moving into the bunker and getting personal space for the first time in her life, she had grown territorial. Another similarity between her and Dean. She sat on her bed, then lay back and let the mattress absorb her. Like her brother always said, it remembered her, but she sighed and sat back up, knowing Sam wouldn't take long to find a store. He was efficient. She picked out a plain t-shirt and a flannel and threw on a pair of worn jeans. It was going to take a lot to get used to never being alone. Already she felt smothered.

It didn't help when there was a knock on her door. Casey cringed. "What?"

The door opened to reveal Sam. "I found one. It's forty minutes away, but it has good reviews." He gave her a small smile.

She smiled back, but she knew he wasn't really coming in to keep her updated on his search. He was coming in to check on her. She couldn't have even two minutes alone? She supposed, though, the last time she was alone she hadn't given herself the best track record. "Sounds good, Sammy. I'll be right out."

His face faltered. He didn't want to pressure her, but the ground rules were pretty specific. He wanted to keep an especially close watch these first few days. "What else do you need to do? You're dressed."

Casey rolled her eyes and let out a long breath so she didn't scream at him. She reminded herself he meant well. He meant well. "Sam, I haven't been alone for the last at least 36 hours. You took away everything in the joint, probably even the butter knives. Can I at least have a couple minutes to absorb everything?" she pleaded with him. Everything had been busy these past two days, she needed a moment to pause and think.

His brow knit together. "Three minutes?" he offered.

She knew that was the best she was going to get. "Three minutes." He gave her that same apologetic smile with his big, soft eyes, then shut the door. Casey flopped back on her bed, spreading her arms as wide as possible so that if a ton of bricks decided to fall on her they would get an even impact. Maybe even make the kill a little cleaner. She wouldn't be upset.

It hadn't sunk in in yet that things weren't about to go her way anymore. What were they supposed to do stationary at home? They'd done all the research they possibly could on the any monster. There wasn't much they could do about the angels, at least nothing that could be done by regular humans, although she could hardly consider herself and her brothers as regular humans, considering they'd saved the world three times now and each of them had died at least three times and still come back. And what was she supposed to do without any personal space? She couldn't lounge out all day with her brothers. Their bickering would drive her insane quickly. She wished the bed would absorb her, swallow her into its foamy core, where she could nestle up and heal her mind until all the gloom and despondency that marred her finally dispersed.

She closed her eyes. She knew Dean wasn't asleep. He was too bothered by the entire affair. He would let his guilt claw at him until exhaustion ultimately took over and knocked him out. Dean may not be asleep because of what happened, but Casey could pass out immediately because of what happened. Emotional trauma couldn't very well be snuffed out by half a day of car-sleep. She was going to need days of sleep before every thought of humiliation and exposure and guilt and pain wouldn't make her breath catch as it passed through.

Sam knocked before poking his head in. "Casey? It's been three minutes. Are you ready to go?"

Casey was sure that if she had a stopwatch she would see that Sam had entered exactly at three minutes and one second. She was also sure that if she'd smacked on the door during her "break" she would hear Sam's curse as he backed away from the door while holding his ear.

She sat up and shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. Sammy, I really just want to be alone," she pleaded. "All I want is to be left alone and take a nap. This is so exhausting, Sam. I'm exhausted." Casey felt like she was going to cry again. She really was exhausted, and it hurt knowing that Sam was probably going to say no to her request because he didn't trust her to be alone.

Sam felt extremely conflicted. He could see in her beseeching expression that she truly was spent and trusted that she wasn't going to hurt herself, especially because it'd be next to impossible with how thoroughly they'd emptied the place of weaponry. But he also knew that if she wanted to self harm enough she would be able to sell exhaustion to him and find some way to hurt herself after he caved. And rules needed consistency. They weren't followed if they weren't consistent one-hundred percent of the time. He couldn't bend, especially not this soon. He could bend later when she had gained some trust back, but not now. She was only allowed to be alone and asleep at night.

"We can go to the bookstore tomorrow if you want, but you can't be alone, Case. I do trust you, but I'm not willing to take that chance. I'm too worried about you to leave you alone." He was sorry to crush her hopes of a private nap, but he didn't have a choice. "I won't say you can't sleep- I'm freaking exhausted too-, but you can't sleep alone. You can sleep on the couch in the library if you want? I'll turn off all the lights and sit away from you or we can figure something else out." Sam realized he was rambling in an attempt to keep her from crying. She looked so desperate, with her big, imploring, green eyes. He realized that she looked like Dean mixed with his own "puppy face". He'd never seen the "puppiness" when he'd tried in the mirror, but looking at Casey now he realized that her's was probably nearly identical to his own.

"Sammy," she whimpered. "Please?" He could see her eyes were starting to shimmer, but he knew he couldn't bend. Finally, an idea came to his head that might work.

"I can drag the couch in here and do some research or something while you sleep. We can turn the bed so you're facing away from me. It isn't perfect, but it's what we can do." He hoped this idea would work. He didn't know what else he could do. If Dean really was asleep, he supposed that she could sleep next to him. She'd done it a million times before in motel rooms. On his way into her room, though, Sam had noticed the decanter was missing from the kitchen counter and knew his brother wasn't sleeping, at least not yet. He might pass out later, but Sam didn't really want his little sister sleeping next to drunk Dean. His snoring was unbearable already, his drunk snores were lawnmower-esque. "It's the best I can do, Case."

She frowned and looked at her toes. Almost a minute later she shrugged and said, "I guess." She silently stood and began pulling the end of her bed so the headboard would face Sam. Sam left to pull the couch in. Even though Casey knew he would be as quiet as possible, she was still angry. It was mainly the principle of the matter. She didn't want to sleep with her brother in the room. Most of the reason she wanted to sleep was so she could escape this over-supervised nightmare.

She heard the sound of the couch feet dragging down the hall. She imagined it would be nice and make the process quicker if she helped him, but she was too upset with him to offer any assistance. And she understood it was unreasonable to be upset with Sam- he only wanted to help. All she wanted to do, though, was sleep for as long as humanly possible. For a week, bare minimum.

Sam entered backwards, dragging in the long couch. Casey pushed her nightstand to the new side of her bed so he had enough room to settle in some. She was pissed, but she didn't want him to be uncomfortable. She noticed he had several books tucked in between the cushions and half smiled. It was just like Sam to be efficient.

He set down the couch and stood up to stretch his back, slightly breathless. He smiled at her. "I'll be right back," he puffed and left again. He was gone for a maximum of seven seconds before returning with his laptop and a glass of water and headphones dangling around his neck. "I'm going to do my best not to bother you. Tell me if I'm being too loud, okay?" Casey nodded and sat again on the edge of her bed. Sam gave her his famous soft smile paired with the loving eyes. His moo-cow eyes. He sat down. "You okay?"

Casey shrugged. "I guess."

Sam frowned, but recognized that Casey was upset, mostly at him right now, and didn't want to talk. He didn't blame her. "Do you want to be woken up at a certain time later?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to sleep as long as possible." Then she added in a whisper, "Hopefully forever."

Sam heard her mumbled comment. It broke his heart to see someone so wonderful this sad. She didn't deserve to be sad. Nobody deserved to be sad, but especially not his baby sister. She was good. She deserved to be as happy as possible in between the next global destruction threat.

"I'd prefer if you didn't do that. I know you're pissed, but we really do love you, Casey."

"I know," she said, then swung her legs over the side and laid down and stared at the ceiling. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have anything to say, and there wasn't anything Sam could say to make this better either. All that was necessary now was a nap. Casey closed her eyes. She focused on the feel of her body absorbed into the memory foam mattress pad to help her relax. If she kept thinking about the scene going on in her room, and the entire bunker, she would never fall asleep. Thinking about memory foam, though. That was something that would help. Casey let out a long sigh.

"Goodnight, Sammy," she whispered.

Sam's voice broke as he spoke, as if he'd been crying. "Goodnight, Case."


	14. She's Going to be Okay

Castiel hadn't ever expected to put two Winchesters to sleep in one day, and yet Dean was laying in an uncomfortable looking position across his bed because Cas decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

Contrary to what he'd said, Dean hadn't gone to bed after leaving the library. Castiel went to search for him when Casey went to her room and had found him in the shooting range with a target dangling by its corner. There were six more mutilated sheets on the floor, alongside a couple broken beer bottles and a half empty handle of whiskey.

"Dean," Castiel interrupted his clip. Dean sighed and set the gun on the counter

"Cas," he replied, not looking at his friend. He rested his hands on either side of the gun and let his head hang between his shoulders. He looked like a broken man. After all he'd gone through in life, Cas supposed he must be pretty close to becoming one.

"She's going to be okay, Dean." Castiel didn't have a definitive way of knowing that, but with her brothers, and himself, if need be, Casey could heal. Cas felt sure of it. Mostly. "She has people looking out for her. She has you guys, she has me, if she'd like. It won't be easy, but it isn't impossible."

"Cas, this has been going on since she was nine and it hasn't gotten better." Dean clenched his knuckles on the counter.

"She hasn't utilized your support yet," Castiel pointed out.

"Because she didn't know she had it!" Dean shot up, eyes blazing at his friend. "She didn't trust us to know about her freaking cutting. She didn't want our support."

Cas knew that wasn't why she didn't say anything. Casey trusted her brothers more than anything in her life, but she knew if her brothers found out they wouldn't trust her and that she would have to stop. "She knew you would make her stop."

"Of course we would make her stop! What man wants to see his little sister cutting herself up like that? She's my freakin' sister, Cas." Dean folded his hands behind his head and looked up at the sheet metal ceiling. The only person he'd ever bothered to pray to was standing right in front of him and he was just as useless here as Dean was. At least Cas could heal up her arms. Dean couldn't even do the bare minimum. Casey didn't even trust him enough to let Sammy tell him. He knew he angered easily, but he would never do anything to hurt Casey. He was glad Sam snitched to him at the rest stop, as hard as it was to play it cool the rest of the car ride. When they'd gotten to the motel all he wanted to do was sleep, but they'd agreed that Dean would go to the bar so Case and Sam could talk. It didn't feel like there was enough whiskey in the world to sate him in there. At a woman's house once, he'd drunk from a four-thousand dollar bottle of whiskey, still he was sure that whiskey wouldn't hit the spot either. He looked back at his friend.

"Is it really so much to ask for my family to be safe for once?" 

"You should go to bed, Dean. Casey is taking a nap right now. Sam is in her room with her. She's safe," Castiel assured him.

"I can't sleep, Cas. How am I supposed to sleep like this?" His eyes were raw. He didn't feel like crying anymore, but he could feel tears building, his tilted head the only thing to prevent them from falling.

"I can help."

Castiel didn't actually think Dean would take him up on the deal when Dean said, "Fine," and left the gun on the counter and started toward his room. He stopped in the doorway and sighed, then turned back around and grabbed the gun. He pulled the clip and put it in one pocket, then put the unloaded gun in the other. He felt his chest stretch painfully and his shoulders weigh down another thousand pounds as he shoved the gun in his pocket and left the room again.

Dean walked into his room and stared at the blank walls, another pang smacking him in the lungs. It wasn't because he missed his decor, but because he wished they didn't have to be hidden and that he knew when he'd be able to redecorate again, if ever.

Castiel followed Dean into the room. Dean turned when he heard the familiar click of the lock. "Don't lock it," he said sharply. He'd meant to have Cas remove the lock from his own door in case Casey decided to shut herself in but forgot. And he wanted her to have the door open in case she needed somebody to talk to, although he knew she would turn to Sam first. He wasn't jealous, necessarily, but worried that she didn't feel that she could trust Dean as well. He wanted her to know that he wouldn't be mad at her if she needed to talk. He wouldn't yell. He didn't understand why somebody would intentionally hurt themselves, but he knew it wasn't a rarity. And he would never think of his sister as some freak. They were all freaks, but not because of something like that. More because they continuously cheated death or were addicted to demon blood or asked favors of demons and crap. But he wasn't grossed out or anything she might think, just worried. She needed to know she could trust him too in case someday Sammy wasn't enough.

"Dean." Castiel pulled Dean from his inner ravings of a lunatic.

"What, Cas?"

"Are you sure about this?"

Dean shrugged. "I can't think about this anymore. Is Sam awake?" Castiel nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just make sure she can wake me up if she wants."

"I can do that." Dean laid down in his bed and let himself sink into the mattress, rolling to face away from Cas. "Dean?" Dean grunted, unable to bring himself to move to look at the angel. "She will be okay," Castiel affirmed. He saw Dean's shoulders stiffen and knew it was time to let him sleep. Sam needed to sleep too, but he'd be able to handle himself until Dean woke up. He placed two fingers on Dean's temple and felt him immediately drop deeply asleep.

Sam had been on the same page of a book about wraiths for twenty minutes and he hadn't read more than the same paragraph four times. He couldn't focus on it. He wasn't interested and there was hardly anything he didn't already know in the book anyway. He just grabbed it because it was one of the most fascinating monsters to him. Ever since his Girl, Interrupted stunt with Dean he'd always wanted to learn more about them but never had enough time, what with the apocalypse and Lucifer's cage and all. All Sam could focus on, though, was Casey's smooth breathing.

He'd expected her sleep to be restless because of everything that had gone on and the fact that she'd just slept for over twelve hours, but Casey was asleep as if she'd run forty miles on one granola bar. Her even in and out rhythm was gradually putting him at ease, convincing him that everything would be alright and helping him push aside what he'd learned about his sister only yesterday.

He attempted to focus his eyes back to the page once again. 'The spike of a wraith is made out of keratin, just like the horn of a rhino and human hair. It is mostly hollow, although there are blood vessels...' Casey inhaled deeply, causing Sam to give up on his book entirely. He shut it and set it by his feet on the end of the couch, then stood up and walked over to Casey's bed.

He stared at his sister. She'd always worn her hair in a bun when she slept so she wouldn't have to wash it if they were in a rush the next morning. She'd tied Sam's hair in a bun a million times as a kid, but the elastics always gave him a headache after a few minutes and his forehead would feel like he'd gotten bad plastic surgery. Casey's face showed no discomfort as she slept, though. Her eyebrows were pulled together like she was deep in thought, but every other part of her was relaxed. She was still wearing Dean's flannel, but the sleeves were pushed up and the blanket was only covering her feet. She must have been hot. Sam couldn't stop staring at her arms. They were tanned, the right tanner than the left from sitting behind the driver's seat and baking through the window, and clean. They were free from any damage that had occurred over her short life, even hunting damage.

Seeing her arms clean after discovering the mess that they were was like looking into the sun for the first time in days, even if it'd only been one. They were so pure. But it also felt like the first birthday after John had died. It was still his birthday, but it was haunted. Seeing her arms clean was like seeing the other side of the bed empty or seeing your kid get married. It hurt, but it was also letting go.


	15. I Am Strong Enough

It had been a full week without a hunt, without researching the Knights of Hell, or even looking up crap about angels, Casey's least favorite subject. It had pretty much been a week full of fake smiles and constant asking of the question "are you okay?". The Rules stated that Casey had to be out of her room most of the day, but there wasn't even a TV in the library. She loved reading, but only fiction, which the library was seriously lacking in. She couldn't count the times she'd read the Wizard of Oz series within the past week.

Casey sat on a chair besides Dean's bed that he had dragged in so they could watch movies together. He'd offered to let her sit on the bed and she'd almost taken him up on it, then remembered that there was no way of knowing what had or hadn't been done on those sheets. It didn't matter how many times they'd been washed, they were still impure, so she declined and sat next to the bed instead.

Dean sat on the bed with an enormous carton of Milk Duds, completely immersed in the adventures of Dr. Sexy, MD. Casey really didn't mind the show and was glad Dean had splurged and bought eight seasons on DVD the night before. He insisted he'd bought them for her sake, but she'd seen him eyeing them in the store before. Now that they actually owned televisions, he'd been waiting for an excuse to get them. Her everlasting boredom over the week had become the perfect reason. It was interesting and actually funny sometimes, but one could only binge for so long. She didn't think that was possible before.

"Dean?" Dean's eyes didn't move a centimeter, and she was almost positive he hadn't heard her either. It made sense, though. Dr. Sexy was having a heart to heart with a lung cancer patient and trying to get him to stop smoking. It was emotional, but Casey really didn't care. Her legs were going to explode with energy. "Dean!" She threw the pillow in her lap at him.

"What?" he snapped, and paused the program. He made a big show of putting down the remote and acting exasperated.

Casey rolled her eyes. "Whatever, drama queen?"

"Drama King," he corrected, smartly.

Casey rolled her eyes again with a spectacular level of exaggeration. "Fine. Drama King. I'm bored, and we need to go on a hunt. I can't sit around like this anymore. I feel like I'm going to explode." Casey pouted. She didn't often use her big eyes to get her way, but she figured once wouldn't hurt. She was going crazy sitting inside. "Bunker fever, Dean."

Dean sighed. "Case, we can't go hunting. You aren't strong enough."

Casey felt her cheeks blaze. How was she "not strong enough"? She'd been strong enough to kick his ass sparring yesterday. She was strong enough to keep her brothers in check when Bobby was shot. "I'm not strong enough? How the hell am I not strong enough?" she demanded. Dean was not getting away with that remark.

"You've only been clean for a week, Casey. You still won't talk about it-."

"That's because there's nothing to talk about," Casey injected, her voice thick with annoyance. She folded her arms and legs to show she wasn't going to play. His comment stung.

"There's plenty to talk about, kiddo. We can go to a diner instead. Or there's that Italian place a couple miles away," he suggested. Food could usually deter him, but he knew that she wasn't the same. Her and Sammy had already gone to the bookstore at least five times, he couldn't bring himself to suggest it again.

She huffed and stood up. "Dean, if I have to eat another stupid diner burger this week my arteries will burst, and I will make sure the blood hits you first."

"You sound like Sam," he pointed out, another attempt to distract her.

"Dean! I'm serious. We can't stay in like this anymore!"

Dean sat up from his slouched position on the bed. "Well, what do you want me to do about it? We aren't going on a damn hunt."

"I'm not gonna run in front of a werewolf. I won't even keep the knife afterwards." Dean cringed at her offer. He didn't like thinking of Casey even holding a knife anymore, just the thought shot a surge of hurt through his brain. Casey ignored his unsettled look and continued. "We have to do something with a purpose. We're just floating along in here like some day at the lake. I need to do something that actually matters." Then, she added in a whisper, "I need to matter."

Dean's head shot up from his fists on his lap. "You need to matter? You do matter. People think you matter too much to me and Sam, but screw them. Family matters. You matter. You act like you're this annoying, ugly, awful human being and you're constantly punishing yourself over it. You hurt yourself over something that isn't even right. It's wrong! And the only part of you that doesn't matter is the part of you that hates yourself. The only stupid or ugly or annoying thing about you is whatever monster in your head that's telling you this crap!" Casey opened her mouth to speak, but Dean didn't stop. He needed to say what'd been eating at him all week. He'd been censoring himself so he wouldn't snap at her, but if she said she was strong enough, she was strong enough hear what he had to say. He was the last danger she had to worry about. "I don't want to be in this Death Star forever either, but I suck it up because you matter to me. Sam sleeps in your room on a couch that is way too small for him while you nap because you matter to him. Cas is trying to fix freakin' heaven and shove all the angels back up while they try to kill him again and again, but he still makes time to stop in three times a day to see you. Because you matter to him. Hell, he stops in while you're sleeping too. He sits there for hours so that Sam and I can sleep and not check on you every thirty seconds to make sure you're still alive. He's damn angel, Casey, and you matter to him.

"Do you know how scared he is, too? Not because of the other angels or Crowley or anything like that, no. He's scared because of you. Do you know how many texts we've gotten asking how you're doing? Do you know how often Sam and I text each other just to make sure we can both tell that you're okay, in case one of us doesn't notice something? We're scared. We're all scared because we don't want to lose you. And, yeah, you didn't try to die, but it's pretty goddamn terrifying when you see your sister with arms screwed up to hospital level badness." Casey's jaw dropped open. How could he say that? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned close to Casey's face. "It's pretty freakin' craptastic. We're scared. We're afraid that we're gonna walk in your room and find you bleeding out on the floor or hanging from the vent. You keep saying that it's all peachy, but it ain't. It ain't peachy at all. I haven't had a drink in days in case you need me sober. Sam hasn't eaten more than an apple at a time, that I have to shove down his throat, because he can't because he's sick to his stomach worrying about you. Don't you dare tell me that you don't matter!"

The vein in Dean's neck was sticking out and his face was red. He was pissed. She hadn't seen him pissed in almost two weeks because they were acting calm and happy for her sake. And she'd honestly thought that she missed it. She was wrong, because she was terrified. She leaned away from him and pushed the chair back with her legs, then pulled them up to her chest. She didn't want him to be within touching distance. Her eyes were wide, almost an exact copy of Dean's. She was stunned. How the hell could he just say all that to her? How did he say that? Why would he say all of those things?

Then she began to cry.


	16. Good Little Soldier

"Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled. He didn't mean to hurt her. He'd never mean to hurt her, he only wanted her to see herself through his eyes. He knew he had gone about it in an aggressive way, though. He was in the heat of the moment. He and Sam had worked relentlessly to make sure Casey had a good week and didn't feel the need to cry or think anything bad, but he'd gone and screwed it up. Because of his crap temper. Dean felt like he could punch a wall, but he didn't want to scare his little sister more. There wasn't anything he could say to her to take back his screaming fest. Her face was buried in her knees and her shoulders wracked up and down in hard sobs and gasping breaths that were punctuated with painful wails. The urge to walk over and scoop her in his arms to make everything alright was strong, but she wouldn't want to be touched by him, and he couldn't blame her. Sam could potentially help, but Dean needed to fix this himself. If he didn't fix it, there was no way she would ever talk to him again, especially if she didn't feel okay.

Suddenly Casey slammed her feet against the floor and flung herself at the bed, smashing Dean into the mattress by the force of her vault from the chair. She laid on her side and pulled Dean down, effectively wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. He could feel how hot her face was through his shirt and could feel the tears soaking in, but he couldn't care less. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, thanking God or whoever that she wasn't afraid of him.

She pulled his arms from around him and tucked them in between his stomach and her chest, her hands in tight fists, then pulled her knees up too. Dean adjusted his arms so they still fit around her. She was grateful for that. She wanted to make herself as small as humanly possible so she couldn't hurt anybody anymore. Castiel wasn't afraid of almost anything. The realization of how bad she'd scared her little family was a painful one, but she was glad Dean had told her. There wasn't anything Casey could do to reverse the damage she caused, but it was possible to lessen future potential damage.

And that started with honesty.

"Dean?" she asked in a hushed tone. Dean made a small noise to show he was listening. "I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt anybody. I didn't think anybody was gonna find out, and I never thought of how it might affect you all. I'm sorry, Dean." The sobbing had lessened, but the tears were still going strong, the dampness from them running was making her neck itch.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dean murmured. He began rubbing her back. "It's alright, kid. You have nothing to apologize for. I do. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn't have done that. It pissed me off when you said you don't matter because you do matter. Knowing that you don't realize that makes me so angry. I guess I finally cracked."

"It's okay. I'm not mad. I'm glad somebody finally told me what was going on outside of me. I knew you guys were upset but not the extent, I guess." Casey squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed hard, but her breath caught on another sob and she made a small hiccup. She regretted everything.

When Casey was seven years old she'd fallen out of a tree. John had been teaching her how to climb it because she was so small, he said her best chance of survival would be running. A lot of monsters could still climb trees, but a lot of them couldn't either. He wanted her to know any possible way of escape. She'd always thought it was stupid until they'd finally began to bring her along on hunts, then she was much more appreciative of the tedious drills.

She wasn't on a drill, though. She was climbing a tree outside of a motel while Dean and Sam and their father pretended to look for her. It was one of the rare times they were almost a normal family. They could hear her giggling above them and the rustle as she moved from branch to branch. She'd felt like a regular monkey, high above her family as she snuck around among the leaves. Then she thought of The Lion King and how Rafiki always had a staff when he bounced around and decided she wanted one. She scanned the branches, looking for one that would be thin enough to break off, but thick enough to mimic Rafiki. Finally she found one on the next tree over. It was perfect. Wiry, bendy, and about her height. The perfect staff for her. John hadn't taught her how to move from tree to tree yet, but it couldn't be much different than going from branch to branch on the same tree.

Casey pulled her knife from the inner pocket of her jacket. It was seven inches long and half of the blade was serrated. A gift from Dean for her birthday, her first personal knife. The sheath was thick leather that sharpened the blade every time you pulled it in or out, real top notch stuff. But nothing was too good for his little sister. The tree could dull the blade, but the case would soon make it good as new again.

Casey crawled to the middle of the branch she was on, halting when she could feel it begin to bend beneath her weight. Dad had taught her to be sensitive to the feeling. A sturdy branch from the target tree was two feet away, an easy feat. Casey stuck out her foot while holding on to the first tree to test the sturdiness. The wood didn't bend. She brought her foot back, then used both feet to push off and on to the next branch, catching it with both arms and one leg. Flawless. Casey righted herself, then climbed to go get her staff. She located it with ease and set to work on sawing it off. As she got deeper into the wood, she began putting more pressure on it with her free hand in hopes that it might snap so she wouldn't have to keep at it. She could hear her dad had gone inside and that it was just her brothers playing her game now.

Finally, the branch snapped off and fell, but bringing her with it. She'd leaned all of her weight into the would-be staff and hadn't kept her balance on the tree. Casey felt her knife rake deeply across her right arm as she fell and shrieked. "Dean!" The staff caught on several branches, breaking her fall multiple times. She'd hit the ground with a thud, knocking the breath out of her. She looked up into the traitorous tree above her blankly and gasping for breath. She heard both brother's footsteps pound toward her and, before she knew what she was doing, shoved the knife back into her pocket and chucked her staff someplace before she started crying.

"Casey!" Sam yelled.

"What the hell? Dad!" called Dean. Crap.

Casey heard a door slam and cringed. Sam leaned over her, hair falling in his face. "Casey, can you move?" She nodded. "Your arms? Legs?" She moved each limb to his satisfaction as Dean hovered over both of them.

"I think I'm fine. I hurt, but I think I'm fine," Casey said quietly in between sniffs. Her arm was growing hot and she could feel the wetness, but she didn't want to say anything about it if neither of them had noticed.

"Move." She watched a hand shove Dean and her father's hazel eyes come into focus. "What happened?" He paused as he silently assessed her. "You can move?"

"Yeah. Sam already made me." Her voice was quieter to her father so it didn't shake. She didn't want to appear weak in his eyes. She was his good soldier. Good soldiers were not weak.

He nodded. "Good." He scooped her up with both arms and she groaned. There would definitely be bad bruising along her back the next day. John brought her in the room and lay her on her side. "Now," he began, and rifled through a bag to produce a first aid kit. "What the hell happened to your arm?"

Every part of her had wanted to tell him it was the branches. That one snagged her on the way down, but the cut was too clean and deep to be from a branch in a fall that brief. Her mouth was aching to lie. She'd just gotten that knife. Dad had never let her have a knife to herself before, and he'd just begun to let her carry it outside of a hunt like her brothers did. It wasn't her lack of knife safety that had screwed her over, it was her childish urge to be stupid Rafiki and carry a staff around that got her cut.

But she was also his good little soldier. And good little soldiers didn't lie to their families. Even if that meant digging their own grave and getting their privileges taken away.

What she was about to do felt a lot like being Dad's little soldier again, and it sucked a lot.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean stopped rubbing her back, as if that would somehow help him hear her better.

"Don't be mad, okay?" Casey felt Dean tense. It was a stupid request, she knew, but maybe if she asked he would at least try to be calm.

"I won't be," he said slowly, his promise full of trepidation.

Casey inhaled deeply and clenched her eyes tight. 'I'm a good little soldier. And good little soldiers don't lie to their families.'

"Dean, I cut again."


	17. Seven Days

The silence was impenetrable. There was only the hum of the paused DVD player hanging in the air. She almost wished there was a spirit nearby to mess with the sound or lights around them, if only to break the tension. Instead it was just Dean's thumb rubbing in between her shoulders and the hard beat of her heart behind folded up arms. There was his Old Spice smell, but there was no whiskey and no smell of smoke. They hadn't burned anything (or anyone) in a while and it left a strange clinging scent of detergent on his clothes that probably hadn't been there since he'd bought them.

Dean could feel her heartbeat through her back, and he didn't think she realized she was holding her breath, but she hadn't inhaled in over fifteen seconds. Dean was working on keeping his breath even and slow in case she started panicking so she would be able to match his breathing and stay calm, even though he wanted to flip the chair over and storm out of the room. Smooth breathing and soft thumb strokes, he reminded himself. She was so small in his arms, curled into a tight ball against him with every muscle in her body tensed as though she was afraid of an ambush. He applied some pressure with his thumb to press out a knot he could feel, then stopped so she didn't think he was pushing because he was upset with her or something.

The words were sinking in the air. It felt like Casey could almost see them. She wished Dean would say something, but he was quiet. He was listening. Whether or not it was to her or to the silence in the room, she couldn't tell, but she could tell he was listening. He was absorbing everything that surrounded them, subconsciously committing it to his memory, burning every detail of this moment into his mind. Casey had to say something. She owed him an explanation, and he was obviously going to wait for her to speak first.

"I did it this morning. I didn't mean to, honestly. I was... I was in my room after I woke up. You know, just staring at the ceiling all quiet? And all of a sudden, everything that was going on just hit me. And I felt like the biggest disappointment in the entire world. It made my throat hurt, you know? All this weight, all this pressure to get better so we can get out of the bunker and start working again got to me. So I just... cut," she explained. It wasn't completely forthcoming, she knew, but if he needed to know something else he could always ask.

Dean was quiet in case she had something more to say. He didn't think they were pressuring her to get better. She was supposed to be taking her time. Get better at her own pace until she actually felt ready enough to go out again. The last thing any of them wanted was for her to pretend to get better so they could resume normalcy and then have her snap and do something even worse than cutting.

But she didn't say anything else after a minute, so Dean figured that meant he should speak, although he didn't have any clue of what to say. "You don't have to rush, kid. We want you to take as much time as you need." It was all he could think of, the complete truth.

Casey pulled back in order to look at her brother. She felt sad when his arms had to let her go, but she needed him to see her face. She needed him to understand. "But I do have to rush. Sitting here like this, it's driving all of us crazy. Which means I have to get better as fast as possible. But, from what I can tell, that doesn't work. Because we're a week in and I already screwed up. If I can't even handle a week...." Casey's thoughts trailed off as she remembered exactly how much of a failure she truly was. An addict. She couldn't even hold off cutting herself for a week. That was pathetic. And how desperate and insane did she have to be to somehow find a way to cut while still under constant supervision? She'd looked at an incognito tab on Sam's laptop earlier in the week to find ways to self harm if she couldn't get her hands on a real blade. Her own brother's laptop. While he sat right across the room. She could have easily told him she was having a bad time, having urges, and been helped through them, but she couldn't even do that right. She snuck so she could figure out how to betray her brothers. She had this wonderful, supportive, loving little family and she was too conniving to ask for their support, even though they'd been stretching themselves thin to make sure she had it within a moment's notice. 

Dean seemed to have read her mind. "That doesn't make you weak, Case. It means that you have a problem, and that's okay. That's why we're here."

"It doesn't make me strong either though," Casey mumbled, looking down again. Her face felt hot with shame and self loathing.

Dean pulled his hand from her back and set it firmly on her shoulder. "Hey." She didn't look up. "Hey." She was going to hear him, dammit. She looked back at him again. "You lasted a week. A whole week. When was the last time you did that?" Casey pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Yeah, I didn't think so. It looked like it'd been a while. No offense," he rushed out. He was not going to hurt her again, ever, if he could help it. She make no action to confirm her offense, so he continued, carefully selecting his words this time. "You lasted a full seven days for the first time in however long. That's kick ass, Casey. We didn't even have to lock you in a panic room to do it, either." Dean winked. "You shouldn't be disappointed in yourself. You should be proud."

Casey's mouth pulled into a small half smile. She had lasted longer than usual. For a long time it'd been almost an every other day sort of thing, but he had a point. It had been seven days before she cut. That was something to be proud of.

"I guess that isn't too bad," she marveled. She felt her chest swell.

"It's not bad It's freakin' awesome, kid," Dean confirmed. "So don't think about it like you failed, think of it as a challenge. You made it seven days, now you know you can do it for at least that. Do it for longer this time around. Maybe you'll be clean until I bite the dust." Casey rolled her eyes. She was thankful for a brother like Dean. It still made sense to her why she'd been afraid to tell him at first, but the prospect of him knowing wasn't as daunting anymore. Dean was safe to her.

Then he asked the inevitable question. "What happened, Case? What'd you use?" he asked quietly. Casey shrugged, hoping he would accept it, although she knew he wouldn't. "Casey." His voice took on a warning tone.

She sighed. "I found some, I don't know, tips, I guess, on the computer and something said I could use bobby pins. I don't know. God, I don't even know, Dean." Casey pushed her hands roughly through her hair. Thinking about it made her head hurt, especially knowing that the little trust she still had was going to vanish into thin air. Would sleeping alone at night even be a possibility anymore?

"The computer? Sam's computer?"

"Who else has a computer?" she countered.

"Why were you looking that up on his computer? Where was he?" Dean demanded. She could hear his voice starting to rise, his shoulders tensing up and straightening against his spine. She shushed him as a reminder to stay calm.

"Dean, he can't watch me every second. He was reading across the room I think. He didn't know."

"Obviously, he didn't know. If he was paying attention this wouldn't have happened," Dean snapped.

"Dean!" He quickly let out a long breath he wasn't aware he was holding and looked back at his sister. She was looking up at him and her eyes were wide and afraid. Afraid of him. He took another breath and held it until his heart rate simmered down and he could speak without spazzing out on her. "There was no way he could have known. And either way, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

She had a point. The damage had already been done. All that they could do now was make sure it wasn't going to happen again. Dean pulled her tighter, probably to a point of discomfort for her, but he needed to hold her tight for his sake. He needed to feel his sister in his arms, alive and well. Well enough, he supposed. 

"What's our next move then, Case Face?" he wondered.

"I have no idea."

The literal next move would be to check out her wounds and bandage anything that needed some help. "You said this morning? What time?"

"I don't know. Right after Sam went out for a run. So probably like six or something." That was only five hours ago. Dean felt relieved, the window for stitches was still open if they were necessary.

He nodded, then got off the bed and offered his hand to Casey. "Alright, come on." Casey hesitated before taking his hand. She didn't feel like showing anybody. They weren't even bad. They actually weren't bad, not the kind of "not bad" that she would tell Sam and Dean so she could be left alone, but legitimately not bad. 

"Do we have to?" she whined. She stared at his big palm, almost twice as large as hers. It was calloused, but clean. And she knew it would be warm and held all the love in the world for her. All she had to do was take it, but she really didn't want to. Because then she'd be sitting on the bathroom counter with her sleeves rolled up and probably crying. With Dean's stubbornness, though, she knew that no matter what she wanted, that would be the end result.

"Yeah. Sorry." There was true remorse in his eyes, but he was driven. He was going to get his way.


	18. Safe Keeping

She sighed and took his hand and let him lead her to the bathroom while she all but dragged her feet on the way there. He patted the sink, an implication for her to sit on the counter like she predicted, while he rifled through the medicine cabinet and produced basic first aid supplies. He set them down beside her and exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking and head hanging in exhaustion, more mental than physical. He rolled them back and lifted his head up and smiled at her gently. He didn't want her to feel guilty.

"Okay, let's see." He felt a light wave a nausea hit him as he sat on the toilet beside her. What if they truly were bad? Would she want to call Cas? Should he call Sam? Either way, they needed to tell him, but he'd rather take care of it one on one first so she wasn't overwhelmed with attention. Too much love can be too much. He pushed back the nerves and looked up at his little sister, who was pulling off her sweater slowly, apprehensively. He could see her eyes starting to shimmer.

She halted and turned to Dean. "Dean, they really aren't that bad. It was a bobby pin. How much harm can a bobby pin even do, really?" She tried to smile to put him at ease, but all it did was show how terrified she truly was. Her voice was higher, she was going to start crying pretty soon if he didn't just leave her alone. She loudly swallowed in an attempt to shove back tears.

Dean put a hand on her knee. "Hey. No more of that. We're gonna get this done, then go find something to do. Maybe I can convince Sam to find some salt and burn blow off case. No more crying, though. I'm gonna feel like we're on a soap opera here pretty soon."

His casualness put her at ease some. He sounded confident, unconcerned, even though she knew there was no way that's how he felt. She continued pulling off her sweatshirt, the lump still in her throat, until it was a black bundle nestled in her lap. She looked back to Dean, who was pretending to read the wrapper on a band-aid, presumably to give her some privacy and a moment to gather herself. He would be just as kind as Sam. Just as loving, just as brief, and just as professional. This was Dean, her big, big brother, and he loved her and just wanted her safe. There had never been a moment in Casey's life where she had doubted Dean's love for her. Even when Sammy was gone for a year, he made sure she was okay with staying with Lisa and Ben before having them bunk up together. They didn't have anywhere else to go, but if she'd said no she knew he would've figured something else out. He'd always made sure she was okay before, he would make sure she was okay this time too. She rolled up her t-shirt sleeve and quietly said, "Okay."

Dean mentally braced himself before turning to look at Casey's arm. It took a lot of effort to not sigh in relief at what he saw. Sammy had lectured him earlier in the week about how severity of wounds does not equate with severity of pain, and how minimizing one or the other could hurt or invalidate her feelings. Listening to him felt a lot like how he imagined college actually was. But the wounds on Casey's arms weren't nearly as severe as the ones he'd seen previously. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He chose his words very carefully, keeping what Sam said in mind.

"These shouldn't take very long. We just gotta wash then bandage 'em up, then you should be good to go." He smiled up at her, proud of how calm she was being. She gave him a curt nod and he turned on the water.

She was just as right with Dean as she had been with Sam. He was acting like she'd gotten hurt in a hunt and he was cleaning that up instead. He waited for the water to get warm before wetting a paper towel and putting a little soap on it.

"This might sting a little," he warned, not actually paying attention to what he was saying.

"It's okay." She knew it wouldn't be nearly as bad as the whiskey, although that didn't prevent her from hissing as he started in.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Casey shrugged. She was glad they wouldn't have to call Castiel for this, and she was hoping Dean wouldn't tell him, although she knew he would anyway. He had too much to worry about in Heaven. He didn't need her self-hatred crap coming at him as well.

Every stroke Dean made with the paper towel was calculated. He tried to think of it as if he was cleaning the speakers or motor in Baby, getting the dust and grease out of everything but making sure she was well taken care of at the same time. This was much more important than her though. This was Casey. Casey wouldn't break if he accidentally wiped a little too hard, obviously, but she might become scared. Her first experience getting cleaned up by the boys was bad enough; he didn't need to add another one on the list. It was hard seeing the wounds on Casey and knowing what they were from, but if he focused hard enough he could pretend they were from werewolf claws. Although thankfully they weren't nearly that deep. It didn't take him very long. He worked methodically, going left to right, first with the soap and water, then with the antibiotic cream, and before he realized he found himself tearing open a bandage wrapper. He didn't even remember choosing sizes, but sure enough, in his hand there were two that were half the size of his palm. He opened them very delicately, making sure his fingers didn't touch the adhesive, and pressed each one to his sister's shoulder. He double checked to make sure everything was covered, then looked up at her with a soft smile.

"All good?" he asked.

She nodded once. "All good," she replied and took her brother's hand as she hopped off the counter. She started walking down the hallway to go back to Dean's room when he stopped her.

"Case." His voice had a worried tone to it. She stopped walking. She knew what he was about to say, although she had hoped that if she turned his show back fast enough on he would get distracted. She wasn't in the mood to have another conversation. It was only ten in the morning and she was exhausted.

She spun around on her heel, looking clearly annoyed. "Yeah?"

"We have to tell Sam," he said carefully.

Casey groaned. "Can we tell him tomorrow?" Telling Sam sounded about as pleasant as getting teeth pulled.

"Oh no. I ain't getting my ass chewed for waiting. Come on. He's probably in the library nerding out."

"He's always in the library nerding out...," Casey mumbled, then resumed chewing on her bottom lip as Dean lead the way. The Rules were strict enough as it was, more would probably drive her insane. She hoped Dean was telling the truth about asking Sam about an easy case. Even the salt and burn would feel like heaven. Heaven. Crap. Somebody was going to tell Cas, but it sure as hell wasn't about to be her. If one of them believed he really needed to know, they could do it.

Sure enough, Sam was in the library, nerding out. Casey couldn't tell what book he was reading, although if it was regarding the Knights of Hell or angels she could guarantee that he'd read it before. Sam looked up when he heard the pair enter. He smiled and shut his book, not bothering to mark the page, which confirmed her assumption that he was rereading.

"Hey," he smiled. He sounded truly happy to see them. Casey hadn't seen him all morning. She'd been in Dean's room for it and Sam had no need to go in there after texting Dean to double check her location. He knew she was getting sick of seeing both of their faces together. It was overwhelming. That much fake happy felt like she'd filled her mouth with pure sugar and tried to swallow without anything to drink. Separately, they acted more like their legitimate selves and it was easier to handle. It hurt Casey to know that she was about to burst his bubble when he seemed to be in a good mood. Good moods were rare to come by for him; especially after finding out about Gadreel. Discovering his baby sister hated herself hadn't made happiness any easier to grasp for him either, and he'd already told her how proud he was every day she'd been clean. She was about to break his heart for the billionth time within two weeks.

"Hey, Sammy," she said sadly.

His demeanor changed immediately and he sat up from his slouched position. "What's wrong?" His mouth had gone from a content smile to an unquiet, tight line in about a tenth of a second. Casey looked at Dean, hoping he would say something, but he looked back at her with the same constipated face she had. "Dean?" Sam was restless already and they hadn't been in the room for more than a minute. Patience didn't run in the Winchester bloodline.

Casey sighed and flopped in a chair across from Sam, hard enough to where the plank underneath the seat hurt her butt. She winced, but didn't say anything. She didn't want to draw more attention to herself, she was basically about to give a TED talk about her emotions. She didn't want any more spotlight on her than what was already there.

Dean walked deeper in the room and leaned against a bookshelf. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, a habit all three of them had, and sighed too. "Sammy." Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly when Dean didn't continue speaking right away. Dean sighed again, not looking at his brother. "Sammy. We gotta talk."


	19. You Peed the Bed?

His demeanor changed immediately and he sat up from his slouching position. "What's wrong?" His mouth had gone from a content smile to an unquiet, tight line in about a tenth of a second. Casey looked at Dean, hoping he would say something, but he looked back at her with the same constipated face. "Dean?" Sam was restless already and they hadn't been in the room for more than a minute. Patience didn't run in the Winchester bloodline.

Casey sighed and flopped in a chair across from Sam hard enough to where the plank underneath the seat hurt her butt. She winced, but didn't say anything. She didn't want to draw more attention to herself, she was basically about to give a TED talk on her emotions. She didn't want any more spotlight on her than there already was.

Dean walked deeper in the room and leaned against a bookshelf. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, a habit all three of them had, and sighed too. "Sammy." Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly when Dean didn't start continue speaking right away. Dean sighed again, not looking at his brother. "Sammy. We gotta talk."

Sam frowned and his eyebrows tucked together. "Okay...," he said uneasily. He looked between Dean and Casey, but she avoided eye contact with him and chose to stare at a bookshelf. Maybe if she counted all of the books on each shelf she would disappear into the numbers and never have any problems ever again. She started on the fourth shelf down, the one she could actually begin to distinguish separate books on. The first three were too high and the spines began to blur together. It was slow work, but the meticulousness kept her mind off her brothers burning holes into her face with expectancy. "Casey!" Sam shouted, pulling her out of her head abruptly. She realized that he must have said her name a few times already. She looked up at her brother, whose eyes were soaking in concern. "Where'd you go?" She looked down again. "Case," he pleaded.

She looked back to him and shrugged. "I don't know. I just escaped, I guess."

"Escaped?" Dean asked skeptically.

She looked towards her shorter brother. "If I focus really hard on something, it's like everything around me disappears. So I was counting the books."

"Casey," Sam brought her back to the original conversation. "What do we need to talk about?" He leaned forward in an attempt to show he was listening, but the gesture only made her feel trapped. She looked at Dean, beginning to panic.

"It's okay, kid. It's okay," he assured her.

"It's okay," Sam repeated. "Casey, whatever it is, I won't be mad." He offered her a small smile.

She sighed. "I sort of... had an accident." She didn't want to explicitly say that she'd cut herself again. Merely the thought of saying it had her shoulders tensing up.

Sam took a long moment before saying anything. Finally, he carefully expressed his thoughts.

"Like, you peed the bed?"

Dean burst out laughing. Casey couldn't help but smile, and let out a quiet chuckle, either.

"Sam, I'm fifteen. Come on." she jokingly chided him.

"You said you had an accident! That's a colloquialism for peeing yourself. How was I supposed to know otherwise?" He threw his hands up as he tried to defend himself.

"I'm fifteen!"

"Okay, I don't know. Maybe you slept through it or something?" he suggested.

Casey couldn't hear him over Dean's cackling so she disregarded whatever he'd said. Peed herself in bed. Who even did he think he was dealing with? Hunting together and sharing beds in seedy motels for however many years and he just randomly assumed she'd wet the bed, even though she hadn't since she was probably around five. Dean began to quiet down, although she wished he would continue his obnoxious laughter so they wouldn't have to face this conversation anymore. He finally wound down to a nearly silent chest-laugh, holding his hand to his abdomen like he was in pain. He wiped a tear off his red face with his other hand.

"I don't need to work out for the next ten years. My abs are killing me." He grinned.

Sam was slouching back back and had an almost bitter look to his face. "Whatever," he mumbled before sitting back up again. "So you didn't wet the bed?" Casey looked at him with her best really? face. "Then what's actually going on?"

Casey's face grew hot. Sam wasn't going to make any more assumptions and Dean, well, Dean was a jerk and probably going to make her tell him herself. They were trying to bring her to the point of not being afraid to go to one of them or Castiel if she was in trouble. She really would have like to have Cas around now. He would probably, maybe, be easier to talk to. He'd keep things clean and to the point. She was close to him too, but it was different. He wasn't as emotional as her brothers. He would be more calm. Theoretically, at least.

"Uh, I guess I kinda screwed up a little," she offered, hoping he would catch her drift.

Everything in Sam's gut was tight. Dean didn't need a work out because he was laughing, but Sam wouldn't need one because of how hard he was clenching his stomach in order to brace himself. He had to brace himself for impact, then he had to brace himself for the wave of emotion that was going to come out of him if she said what he thought she would say. He'd have to conceal the entire wave, though, and manage his reaction carefully. She was just beginning to trust them. He wasn't going to screw that up because he couldn't handle his crap. "Screwed up?"

Her shoulders sank and she looked at her hands that were folded neatly in her lap. She had a worn look on her face. She'd only been up for a few hours, but Sam suspected that if she went to bed she would fall asleep immediately. He hated when she couldn't look at him because he knew it meant something was wrong. He also hated it because he didn't want her to be afraid to look at him when she needed him. And she had the sweetest eyes. They almost reminded him of a cow's soft eyes, but instead of big and brown they were big and green, but still framed with thick, long lashes. They were gentle and loving, just like her. Her color matched Dean's more, but they had the same permeation of the entirety of her emotions just like Sam did.

"I screwed up. I didn't mean to. I was just... sad. I was sad, and I screwed up," she stammered. "I don't know. I just messed up and cut. I'm sorry. I really didn't- I really didn't mean to. I was trying but I'm not getting better fast enough and now we're stuck in this freaking bomb shelter until I somehow 'get better' when none of us even knows what that really means. So yeah, I screwed up. I screwed up, and I'm really, really sorry about it." She paused for a minute to sniff and try to shove back tears that were brewing far too quickly for her liking. "I'm sorry. It's okay if you're disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me too."

"Dude, I'm not disappointed in you," Sam said, confused. He knew she had low self esteem, but he didn't think it was low enough to where she would think that he'd be disappointed in her. He wouldn't ever be disappointed in her. She was trying so hard.

Casey's head snapped up in started into Sam's sincere eyes. "Wait, you're not?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm sad that you self harmed again, but not disappointed. There's almost nothing you could do that would ever disappoint me. Unless you suddenly couldn't hold a conversation about Ted Bundy anymore. That's where I'd draw the line," he smiled. "I'm proud of you, not disappointed."

"Why the hell would you be proud of me?" asked Casey, dumbfoundedly.

"Hey," Dean growled. Casey rolled her eyes. Like she hadn't heard/seen/done anything worse than saying hell. She figured that once you'd killed a couple things in your life, swears were pretty much free game, if that even counted as one.

"Because look at how long you made it. You have an addiction, Casey. You have a strong, hard addiction. I know what that's like. And I know a week feels like a lifetime, but you made it a week. I was surprised there wasn't confetti when I finished my withdrawals because of how excited you all were. Hell, I wish there was confetti now." Casey shot a pointed look at Dean. He maintained his glare and looked back at Sam. "Either way though, a week without cutting," cue Casey's cringe, "is amazing. I'm not disappointed."

Dean walked over and clapped her on the shoulder. "Well done, pilgrim," he said in his best John Wayne voice.

Sam and Casey looked up at him in sync with equally unamused faces. Dean shrugged. Sam continued, "You shouldn't be disappointed in yourself either, Case. You're doing well. You should be proud too."

"I agree with Sam," Dean piped in, his hand still on Casey's shoulder. "I mean, I told you that first, so I agree with me mostly." Sam shot him an incredulous look that Dean promptly ignored. "It's sucks that you relapsed, but you made it a long time. So...." Dean hesitated, not sure how to bring up the obnoxious part of the conversation they were all avoiding. Sam was better at bearing the bad news, but he was playing good cop because he didn't want to be the bad one again. "So," he started in. "How are we gonna stop this from happening again? Your move, Case Face."

Casey huffed and slammed back into a slouch, tossing her arms carelessly over the sides. "I don't even know. Either way, however we do this I know it's gonna suck," she grumbled.

"Sammy, how about we find ourselves a little hunt? Kid's dying of boredom over here."

"We aren't supposed to hunt until she's better," he reminded him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Because sitting around here is making her so much better? Come on, I'm gonna start growing moss on my ass if we don't move around anytime soon." Casey began a tiny smile. Dean was keeping his promise. He always was a man of his word; all of them were. Kind of. "We can do some easy salt and burn or cursed object or something. Point is, we gotta get back in the game. We're hunters."

Sam mulled it over for a moment. He was worried hunting would affect her psyche while she was in such a fragile state, but not hunting was part of what caused her relapse. He'd read a quote once that said "Boredom is the mind's scar tissue" and it never made complete sense to him until now, after finding out that boredom was killing his little sister. He was killing his little sister. A surge of guilt strong enough to rival Gadreel's racked through Sam and caused his stomach to churn. This relapse was his fault. He'd hurt his little sister. The little girl that fit so well in his ten year old arms and would ride high on his seventeen year old shoulders. The one who drew pictures in the car and argued about Dean Koontz being a better horror author than Lovecraft by the time she was twelve. He remembered when she was born and he thought her ears were big and that she looked like a baby monkey instead of his sister. He wanted to cry, but had to keep it together for her sake. He wasn't going to cause this to happen again. No more sadness for his little monkey sister.

"Alright. Let's go on a hunt."


	20. Six Deaths

Unlike any other time they were on a break, a case didn't pop up right away and crash the party. They'd been reading articles online and newspapers in diners within a hundred mile radius for a week and there still wasn't anything that looked even remotely like a case. They'd gone on hunts where there was hardly a clue of something going on and come out battered and bruised because of a vicious monster they hadn't even expected. But now there wasn't any, and Casey's patience was growing thin.

Casey was laying on the floor in Sam's room while he was supposedly searching for a case on his laptop, although she was pretty sure that he was catching up on other lore. She had suspicions that he was avoiding taking her on a hunt because he was still nervous there'd be repercussions. She let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled onto her stomach. The ground wasn't particularly comfortable, but the drama of an exhausted woman lying on the floor in perpetual impatience was too thick for her to pass up. She knew that it probably wouldn't help her cause, but there was no shame in trying. When Sam didn't respond to her sigh she huffed again. There was the quiet click of his laptop being shut.

"Yes, Casey?" he asked, unamused.

She rolled back over. "Sam, I am so bored. How is there no hunt anywhere remotely nearby? There's always something that needs to be hunted. It's why hunters are necessary. Supply and demand, or whatever."

Sam actually had been searching for hunts. He was worried about Casey. Staying stationary was what had let her to relapse before and he was worried that it might again, even though this time they weren't holed up because they were waiting on her progress. This time they were waiting for a reason to leave. She hadn't slipped again and had been honest when she was feeling sad or bad about herself, but people only had patience for so long. And everybody knew that the patience of a Winchester was about one thirtieth of the patience in an average human.

"There's nothing close. There's not anything within three hours of here," Sam said apologetically. He could see how hard staying still was for her. The restlessness in her face grew more and more prominent daily. She'd even gone on a few runs with him because she couldn't keep going how they'd been going for two weeks. She'd been caught in the library with a copy of Busty Asian Beauties, to which she replied, with a shrug, "I was curious" to Sam's horrified face. He couldn't begin to imagine the incognito search history on his laptop after he went to bed for the night without feeling nauseated. 

"Why can't we go to another state or something then? We do any other time," she suggested, even though she already knew the answer.

"In case if, for whatever reason, we need to stop the hunt and go home, we won't have too far to drive." For whatever reason was his polite way of saying if you can't handle the hunt or have another mental breakdown then they could quarantine her in the bunker again in a moment's notice.

"Sam, I'm not going to freak out. We'll be fine away from here for a couple of days," she insisted. She wasn't some basket case. Casey was pretty impressed with how well she'd been handling being treated like a glass doll the past few weeks. She was even more impressed that she hadn't snapped after they added daily body checks to The Rules after her accident. It was part of the agreement for going on a hunt, though, and she was in no place to try to debate her only chance at getting out and actually doing something.

Sam frowned, but considered her words. "Fine. We aren't going past Kansas City, though."

Casey shot up. "Really?" Kansas City wasn't exactly far, but it definitely wasn't in the tiny ring they'd previously been combing through. She searched in Sam's face for any sign of taunting, but all she could find in it was exhaustion, a promising expression for once. "I'll go tell Dean!" With an energy she hadn't felt since she'd ran away from Sam the first time, she shot out of the room in search of Dean. As usual, he was in the garage. He was staring into the hood of a red 1952 Aston Martin. She wasn't sure why, he'd already memorized the guts of each car in there, but she was beyond asking her brothers about their motivations for ninety percent of the things they did anymore. She could care less about the DB2. It could have been a unicorn and it wouldn't have mattered. The only thing that mattered was Kansas City, Kansas.

She ran until she slammed into Dean. "Dean!" she cried out excitedly.

"Casey, what the hell?" He detached himself from his little sister, looking moderately annoyed. The lack of a hunt had been eating at his nerves more than he'd been letting on.

"Kansas City! Sam said we could extend the search to Kansas City, Kansas! And the City is a big spot. Well, as far as big can get in this cornfield. But that's not the point. The point is, the bigger the town...," she hinted.

"The bigger the monsters," Dean finished. A mischievous grin spread across his face. He removed the prop from the hood and let it slam ungracefully. It was a beautiful car, but it wasn't important anymore to him then. He needed to get his hands on some Kansas City newspapers.

Casey followed Dean out off the garage and sat beside him in the study as he opened up Sam's iPad and googled "mysterious current events". He always started his search with "mysterious current events". It'd led them to fascinating cases before, so it was almost a tradition at this point. There was the usual disappearances, but no patterns between any of them, and an escaped convict or house fire, but nothing out of the ordinary. Two hours into the search, Casey began to lose hope. They'd extended their search limit, but apparently it hadn't been enough. Dean's search bar was reaching for hunts and read "creepy ghost murders Kansas monsters", showing the level of desperation he was hitting.

"I think I got something!" Sam called from his room. Casey silently sent a thank you to whoever might be listening before bolting to Sam's room. The look of fatigue had vanished from his face and he wore pure excitement. She leaped next to Sam on the bed and saw he had well over ten tabs open, but the tab he was on read quite possibly one of the most beautiful headlines she'd ever seen in her life.

Six Mysterious Deaths In Three Weeks At Local College!

"Holy crap," Casey breathed. "That's a lot of deaths." She knew she really shouldn't be excited about anybody dying, but the obvious hunt in front of her made it feel like her heart was going to burst from her chest.

"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. She could hear the eagerness in his voice as well and didn't feel as ashamed of her own anymore. "What do you think it is? Vengeful spirit?"

"Probably. They're all at the same college and the pattern is couples, obviously," Casey agreed. She was getting goosebumps

"Share with the class, come on," Dean urged.

Sam rolled his eyes at Casey and she grinned before they both turned to Dean, who was hovering only a foot away. "There were six murders, three couples, in a college. It doesn't say how they were murdered. Only that it was gruesome, and that each one happened exactly a week apart from each other, right down to the time. One-thirty in the morning," Sam reported. The anticipation in his voice was strong, and Dean's expression matched the excitement exactly.

"Sounds like a vengeful spirit." He nodded silently before glancing at Casey. She watched his face fall before he spoke again. "Six deaths. Do you think maybe that's a little... heavy?" he tried to hint, although he was hardly subtle about it.

Casey huffed. "Dean, I'll be fine. Besides, we'll only be like three hours away. So even if I do have a meltdown we can just come home and sic another hunter on it."

"Actually," Sam cut in, "This hunt is in Branson. I couldn't find anything closer." He put up defensive hands as Dean glared at him.

"I thought we were staying close to the bunker?" he mimicked Sam's earlier decision in a high, nasally voice.

"I couldn't find anything near the bunker. We've been looking for a week, Dean, I think-,"

"Can you two just shut up for a second?" Casey barked. She wasn't going to let their arguing ruin her mood, so she was just going to nip it in the bud. They'd found a hunt. Nothing was going to ruin that for her. "You guys sound like the parents in Mrs. Doubtfire. Dean, do you want to go on a hunt or not?" She, stood, put her hands on her hips and stared him down, green eyes to green eyes, with an intensity that, if focused through a magnifying glass, could start an anthill on fire.

Dean paused for a second, then spoke with a complete resolution in his voice. "Alright. Six mysterious deaths in Branson, here we come. Let's kick it in the ass, kiddo."


	21. Eat Me

"So, pretty much what you're telling me is that some douche bag tried to get his lady to go heels to Jesus with him, she said no, and then he ganked her?"

"Yeah, man. Like, why didn't she just say yes? There's a reason she's called Prudey Peggy," the kid scoffed. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old, but he was already filling Dean, Sam, and Casey with disgust. He looked at Casey. "Should she even be hearing this?"

"Should you even be talking?" she snapped back, crossing her arms. "There's a reason you aren't getting any, you know? You're a dick." The kid was taken aback. She couldn't remember his name. Scott or Brad or something asshole sounding. He obviously wasn't expecting to get filleted by a fifteen year old girl, and by the rising color in his face, he didn't look like he was expecting to take it calmly.

He turned to her brothers, looking at them expectantly. "Aren't you going to say anything? She just called me a dick. She's like, what, twelve?"

Casey's jaw dropped open in mock surprise. "Oh my god!" She put her hands on her cheeks and looked at Sam and Dean. "He knows numbers?" She took great pleasure in watching ScottBrad's face turn a deeper shade of red. It was obvious that he wanted to snap back by the way his jaw was clenched, but something about the two six plus foot guys standing beside her was stopping him from speaking his mind. He looked at Sam for help, but Sam shrugged.

"Kids these days," he said dismissively.

Dean snapped his fingers in the kid's face. "Hey. We're on the clock here. Knock it off and tell us what we need to know."

"Whatever," Whateverhisnamewas said. He folded his arms and puffed his chest, as though he was defending his honor by making himself look slightly bigger. "There's not much else, anyways. That's where all those kids died. Bet it was because Prudey Two-shoes didn't want them bangin' on her death bed." He paused. "It doesn't seem that complicated to me. I know it was a different time and stuff, but you may as well. Nobody goes into the sub-basement expecting to not get any nookie. She knew what she was going for. Shoulda put out." He shrugged and Casey felt her rage grow.

Dean flapped his notebook shut and looked coldly at the kid. "By talking to you I'm beginning to think that your mother shouldn't have." BradScott looked as though he wanted to say something, but Dean was nowhere near finished. "Listen, Brad-,"

"It's Tad," Apparentlynotbradorscott interjected.

"Yeah, I don't really care. The thing is, Tad. Chick says no, it means no. Pout all you want, but you don't go and stab your girlfriend in the sub-basement because you didn't get your rocks off, plain and simple."

"It's the sub-basement. The only thing on the menu down there is sex. No rainchecks." The kid was firm on his beliefs.

"Yeah, well, she wanted her's to-go. Point is, the little girl is right. You're a dick."

Casey smiled at Tad happily. Even if she hadn't been right, it was nice to know that her brothers would defend her honor, although she was completely right this time around. Both of them knew that too.

As they turned to leave, Sam looked up from his phone. "Oh, by the way, Tad. Her name was Margaret. So maybe instead of calling an obviously murderous ghost a prude, you can politely ask forgiveness by using her real name." He smirked before leaving the boy. It killed all three of them to not see the horror unfold on his face as he realized the danger that he might be in, even though he wasn't the spirit's targeted audience. All three of them knew that Tad (who names their kid Tad anyways? Did they want him to be a douche?) would be completely safe from Margaret; there was no way he would ever be able to convince a girl to go anywhere with him.

They stopped outside the Impala and Dean leaned against it. "You were right, Case. Vengeful spirit it is." He ruffled the hair and her head and she pulled away to scowl at him. He grinned and said, "So, find out where Peg's bones are, torch 'em, then head home?"

Casey nodded, assuming it was as simple as that, but Sam cut her off and decided to ruin the mood. "Her bones might not even be here, though. This is a college. People come from all over to go here. Her body could be anywhere."

Casey sighed. "Sometimes, Sam, I think you look for an excuse to make us do research."

"It was a murder, Casey. Her site will probably be in the newspaper article. It shouldn't take that long." Secretly, though, she was right. Sam wanted to read the full story as to what supposedly happened in the sub-basement. Nothing was ever cut and dry for them. He had a feeling there was more than an easy stabbing here.

"Ugh, whatever," she said and climbed in the car.

Casey flopped on the bed of the Blackberry Motel and huffed. They hadn't planned on spending the night in town, but then they'd found out that Margaret Knope had been cremated, so Dean booked them a room. At least he'd been courteous and found them a motel with wi-fi.

"If she was cremated, what's her soul hanging on to?" Sam asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" she hissed.

Even from across the room she saw Sam raise his eyebrow at her. "It was rhetorical, Casey."

She rolled over and looked at her brothers. Dean was sitting at the table next to Sam eating a burger. Casey's was sitting in a box beside them because her annoyance had killed her appetite. She knew she'd been hungry for a case and that she should have been grateful it was taking longer than they'd expected, but after two weeks in the bunker she'd become accustomed to sleeping in her own bed for over eight hours a night, and the cheap bed she was on now was a poor substitute. When they'd left the bunker, Sam had warned her she'd probably be exhausted after a short period of time, but she'd shrugged it off. He'd been right, though. The case was wearing on her emotions. Maybe she wasn't ready for a hunt yet. When they'd told Castiel about their plans he was vehemently against the idea. He didn't think she was stable enough. He'd spoken privately to Dean, but Casey was a hunter and it wasn't hard to eavesdrop.

 

"She isn't ready. She's been torn down emotionally and she doesn't have her usual relief anymore to grant her a feeling of security, Dean. Has she talked about what happened to either of you?" Castiel had tried to remain quiet, but he'd never been a master of discretion.

There was a pause before Dean spoke. "No."

"Exactly. She isn't ready," Castiel said as if Dean's short answer was a complete validation of his point.

"She has us, Cas. If she isn't ready she'll say something and we can call in some other hunters. She'll be fine." She'd felt a surge of pride in herself then. Her brother trusted her.

"No, she won't, Dean. She hasn't talked about what happened yet, which was a particularly traumatic event for her. If she won't talk to either of you about her feelings toward something that has already happened, she will not talk to you about her feelings towards something she thinks she wants." She'd felt a surge of wanting to punch Cas then. She didn't think she wanted to go on a hunt, she knew. It's how they'd coped with problems their entire lives. Hunts were an excellent device to avoid anything and everything that didn't feel good.

"We'll be able to tell if something's wrong, then."

"You weren't able to tell something was wrong before," Cas pointed out.

Dean's voice changed tones and she backed away from the door. She had a feeling he was going to storm out shortly. "Well, we know now that everything isn't peachy. We messed up before. You don't think I know that? You don't think I feel guilty as hell for not realizing that she was destroying herself and not doing anything about it?" She could hear Castiel try to interject something, but Dean kept on talking, getting louder and louder with every sentence. "I know, Cas. We screwed up, but we've got her back now. She has freaking body checks every day. She isn't allowed to keep barrettes and she hasn't even touched a butter knife since that night. She hasn't complained once other than to tell us she needed to go on a hunt because she was breaking. And that time I knew she was starting to crack. I could see it in her eyes and my dumb ass didn't say anything because I thought she'd talk first. I think I realize now when she ain't doing alright!"

The finality in his voice was obvious. He was done talking and Casey scurried away from the door before she got busted for listening. The door slammed and she hid on around the corner, knowing Dean would go the other way toward the kitchen so he could get a drink. After a moment, there was a gruff voice coming down the hallway.

"Casey," Castiel started. He turned the corner and looked at her. She looked back at him and felt tears well in her eyes. She felt betrayed.

"Don't Casey me, Castiel. I'm not weak. And I am ready to hunt." She bunched her fists tightly and backed away from him. Talking to Castiel wouldn't do any good for either of them and she needed to leave. She couldn't even look at his face without wanting to scream at it. 

"Casey, I don't think it's-"

"Eat me, Cas," she snapped at him. She didn't want to hear any of his excuses. She knew what she'd heard. And if he knew she'd been listening and said what he thought anyway then he'd obviously meant it.

"I'd prefer not to. And I don't think you're weak, Casey. I think that you aren't ready for something so serious," he tried to explain, but Casey wasn't having any of it.

"I honestly don't care right now. And I'd like to be left alone," she said quietly. She knew if she stood around talking to him much longer she was going to hurt his feelings. He may have hurt her's, but she refused to get back at him. He was still family and he truly was a baby with (broken) wings. She wasn't going to hurt him. No matter how much of a dick he was being, she could never be cruel to Cas. 

Walking away from him without an argument was proof enough to her that she was strong enough to take on anything.


	22. She's a Badass

"So we tour the sub-basement, then?" Dean asked before taking a large bite of burger.

Sam shut his laptop. "It's probably our best bet. See if we can find any clues or see her or something."

"We aren't the target audience though, Sam. We need to find a couple," Casey pointed out. Sam frowned and looked at Dean. Dean winked and blew him a kiss.

"Yeah, not happening." He snorted, looking amused. "And you are not bringing some co-ed down there and scarring her for life," he said firmly.

"I wouldn't scar a co-ed. I prefer to think of what we'd do as a nice memory she looks back on with a glimmer in her eyes." When Sam didn't laugh and Casey gagged, Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, so we don't have a couple. How do we piss her off so she comes out then? Go down swinging iron?"

"Oh, yeah, because that always works out so well," Casey said sarcastically.

"Got any better ideas then?" Dean retorted.

Casey rolled onto her stomach, her face brightening as a thought hit her. "Actually, I do." She sat up excitedly. She adored beating her brothers to an idea, it made her feel useful, something she'd felt she lacked since before she started self harming. "Since a bunch of murders have happened down there and college kids love to get drunk and make crappy choices to go off to known haunt sites, why don't we follow a couple down? Tomorrow is Friday night, prime drinking time. Someone is bound to go to the sub." She waited for one of the boys to shoot her idea down, but neither of them made a motion to, which made her even more ecstatic.

"Should we really allow some kids to put themselves at risk?" Sam mulled over, slightly dampening her excitement, but she had a rock solid argument to defend her case.

"They're going to put themselves at risk anyways. At least this time we'll be there to stop something bad from happening."

Dean crumpled up the wrapper to his burger and shot it into the waste basket across the room. "Sounds like a plan to me, eh, Sammy?" Dean stood and began to rifle through his bag, producing a pair of pajama pants, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste with a gooey top. She'd never understood how both of them could use that foul looking tube so she always brought her own, and was careful to make sure neither of them got their hands on it and gunked it up too. Casey was happy her idea was chosen because it meant she was right, but mainly she was happy it was chosen because that meant she could finally sleep. She pulled her backpack up from beside the bed and pulled out a tank top and some cotton shorts.

"That could work. But if nobody goes down tomorrow night then I want to figure out a different plan. I don't want to stay away too long." Then he added in a lower voice that only Dean was meant to hear, "Cas is already worried. He's called twice." Casey hadn't heard Sam talk to Cas, but she supposed there must have been a billion opportunities for them to talk that she wouldn't have noticed. Her face burned red and she made sure she continued to look absorbed in her bag. How embarrassing. An angel of the Lord who was fighting a war in Heaven was calling to check on her. She was that nuts. The thought erased every feeling of usefulness she'd managed to conjure up and she felt like a burden once again. Casey's heart sagged in her chest, then surged as she felt a stiff determination fill up from her toes to the top of her skull.

She was never going to disappoint any of them ever again.

When it was clear they were done talking about the hunt Casey stood and moved toward the bathroom. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed," she said quietly. She wasn't usually one to shower at night, but it had been enough family bonding for her and a break was necessary, plus she wanted space to figure out how she was going to make sure she did her little family proud. She also knew her brothers were going to want to exchange notes on her feelings and worries and triggers or whatever. Half the time when Sam spoke about her lately he sounded like he was quoting directly from the DSM 5. She turned to exit the main room, but Sam stopped her.

"Casey," he said in a knowing tone. She turned back toward him and saw that he was sending a silent reminder to her with his eyes. Body checks.

She sighed. "One minute." She stepped in the bathroom and put on her camisole and shorts then called for Sam. He knocked on the door before entering. They'd been doing this routine daily for over a week and he still looked just as sheepish and she still felt just as humiliated as she repeated the thorough pattern. Stick out and rotate arms, lift up shorts and turn, then lift up shirt and turn. As embarrassing as it was, it still felt good to see her brothers' faces every day when they saw she was still clean. They lit up like Christmas. She looked up at Sam to see his satisfied smile when she was done exhibiting her skin. He looked up at her with his hazel eyes, holding all the brotherly love in the world.

"Thanks, kiddo."

He nodded toward the shower curtain and Casey pulled it back. He wanted to make sure there were no misplaced shavers or anything against The Rules inside. He smiled up at her and handed her a monogrammed Men of Letters towel before shutting the door.

Sam turned toward Dean's expectant face. "And?" he asked when Sam didn't say anything right away.

"All clear," Sam confirmed. Dean let out a breath of relief. He was proud of his baby sister. She was fighting more monsters in her head every day than they would probably see in the real world in their entire lives. She was a freaking badass. "How do you think she did today?" Sam asked.

"I think she's okay. She seems tired. It's nine and she's already getting ready for bed."

"It makes sense that she's tired, though. We haven't really been out doing anything recently. Even for a couple weeks it'll make muscles start to tighten. Plus she's emotionally raw with no out. That's gotta be exhausting."

"What'd Cas say?" Dean stood and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"He mostly just yelled at us for going on a hunt again. He didn't call you?" Sam was surprised. Castiel and Dean had always shared a more profound bond than the two of them had.

Dean shrugged. "'Course he did. I didn't answer my phone." Sam quietly laughed. Worried as he was, he knew it was right for her to be on a hunt again. He could see how tired she was and he could see that she was terrified that something might set her off, but he could also see how she was trying. He was happy that he was gradually becoming able to identify in when she was feeling uncomfortable. She would chew the inside of her cheek and scratch the back of one leg with the opposing foot. That was her tell, but he noticed that the foot would stop if one of them moved in a little closer to her, as though it alleviated some of her anxiety. Dean sipped loudly on his beer. "You know, Sammy, she's a badass."

Sam grabbed a beer off the counter and raised it to Dean. "I'll drink to that."


	23. You Got Some 'Splainin' to Do

"You're a disappointment! God, Dad would be so pissed to see how weak you are!" he screamed, towering over her as she backed into a corner, green eyes blazing. "You're a crap soldier and you're an even worse sister!"

"Get back! You're possessed. I know you aren't my brother, get back!" Casey thrust her flask of holy water on Dean's enormous figure and was horrified when it didn't sizzle. It didn't make sense. His eyes went black, but he didn't burn? What was going on?

Dean laughed. "Holy water, really? I'm not a demon. I'm Dean. Your big brother Dean and I'm not possessed. I'm just sick of your crap, Cassandra. I'm sick of carrying around your weight. You're pathetic and being around you is freaking nauseating. You make me wanna puke!" he spat at her. Casey dropped her flask and squeezed her hands to her head. This couldn't be happening. He said he'd always be there. He was her brother he was family. He promised they'd all be together and that they'd always have each other's backs. There was no way this could be happening.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, and the motel door was smashed down. Sam rushed in and stabbed Dean in the chest with the demon blade, sinking it in to the hilt and making Casey scream even more. They had the cure to fix a demon and Sam just stabbed her brother. He killed him. Yeah, he'd saved her in doing so, but he'd killed Dean. What the hell was wrong with him?

Sam rushed toward her and helped her up roughly with one hand. "Come on, Case, we gotta go." 

"What's going on, Sammy? Why did you kill Dean?" she cried. Sam must have decided she was taking too long to leave with him so he scooped her into a cradle carry and rushed out the door.

"That wasn't Dean!" he insisted.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Casey, we don't have time for the third degree. You just have to trust me on this, okay?" His voice was so serious she couldn't do anything but nod. What had even happened? One minute she was asleep, and the next Dean was screaming at her. Her head bobbed as Sam ran past Baby. She wanted to ask why they didn't get in, but became nearly paralyzed in fear when she craned her neck and saw dozens of brilliant lights bouncing against the interior of the Impala. Fairies? How could she even see them? She couldn't look long though as Sam turned a corner and moved so all her focus on was keeping her arms wrapped around Sam's neck and keeping her core tight so it was easier for him to carry her.

He kept running until they came to a tan car. Cas's pimpmobile. Sam wrenched open the door and roughly shoved Casey in the backseat then moved to sit in the passenger's. They both panted, her abdomen hurt and Sam's arms and legs must have been burning. She wanted to ask what was happening, but his sober face made her curiosity evanesce. She opted for a different question with a simpler answer, one that, most likely, wouldn't cause her brother any more pain.

"Where's Cas?" she spoke lowly, not wanting to to elicit an emotion from him with her tone of voice.

Sam twisted in his seat to look back at Casey, his eyes were grave and red. There were dark circles under them that hadn't been there that morning and his cheeks look sunken in. Sam looked like he was dying. Had he looked like that when he'd stabbed Dean? She supposed she'd been in too much shock to pay his face any mind, but now it seemed insane that should could have missed it. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He repeated the action again and reminded her of a fish, then turned to face the windshield again. "He'll be here soon." His voice was decided and it was clear she wasn't to ask any more questions.

They sat together in silence until Casey finally saw two figures emerge in the ray of the spotlight. They grew closer and closer until Casey could finally discern that one of the figures was Castiel. He was hunched over, supporting the other figure whose feet were nearly dragging. The only indication of them being alive from her distance was the occasional stumble of legs that were attempting to help, but were obviously making their slow progress even more pathetic.

"Sam!" Cas called. Sam didn't hesitate for a moment before exiting the car. Casey thought she saw him carry out a pair of handcuffs, but why would he need to handcuff somebody who was nearly dead? Sure enough, though, she saw Sam clamp a pair on the figure -a man, she could see now- and then moved to his other side to help Castiel in dragging him to the car. When they reached the hood a flash of nausea strong enough to make Casey fold over filled her gut and threatened to spill into her throat. Were they joking? Were they serious? The dirty blond hair, the faded green jacket over a brown shirt. But as they propped him against the hood, every hair on Casey's neck stood up all at once and her blood ran cold because she knew she was right.

It was Lucifer.

She felt her lungs tighten as a million questions flickered through her mind at once. How had he gotten out of the cage? Did he still have his grace? Was this safe? Would warded handcuffs work on an archangel? Why did they need him and what did Dean have to do with any of it? Could Lucifer bring him back? What would he want in return?

Casey was pulled back into reality as her car door open and she let out a surprised whimper before realizing it was Sam.

"Get in the front, Casey," he ordered. His voice showed no emotion.

"S-Sam? What is he do-." Sam cut her off.

He growled, "Get. In. The front. Casey." His words were harsh and staccato, but it was a comfort to know that he was just as upset by the situation as she was, then she at least knew that it was a last ditch effort.

Casey's hands shook as she unbuckled and climbed over the seat. It would have been easier for her to transfer by going outside, but the thought of being out there with him made her cringe. When Sam and Castiel saw that she was tightly fastened in the front seat, he cranked Lucifer's elbow behind him and guided him into the backseat. Casey slid as far against the door as she could, touching the handle in case she needed to make a getaway. Castiel fastened his seatbelt, then quickly shut the door to speak privately with Sam. Locking her in with the Devil himself.

There was a low chuckle from the backseat. Casey refused to turn around. She would not pay him any mind. He was here because they needed him, not for social hour, and she would use her cold shoulder to remind him of that fact.

"Casey Waaaaaacey," he taunted in a ragged voice. He sang her name like they were friends that hadn't seen each other in years. "How I have missed you and your brother," he sighed dreamily. "Sadly, we never got the chance to talk much. But you were so young at the time. Ten or so? Such an influential age. I like to think that I had a part in your upbringing." His voice was fond, reminiscing on the most painful point of Casey's life. He was right, she had been ten. Being ten years old and seeing one brother beat the hell out of your other brother, snap Bobby's neck, and blow Cas up was pretty influential, she would say. Only not in the good way that Lucifer seemed to be remembering it. "I heard from a little birdy, though, that you haven't been doing too hot since I left. What's that about, little girl?" Casey fumed, but continued to ignore him. She heard Lucifer fidget in the backseat and then whistle. "Got somethin' for ya." She saw his cuffed hands slide across the glove compartment and pushed herself as far from his hands as possible, but he retracted them only a second after. She saw something glimmer next to her. Every instinct in her body was telling her not to look. Any gift that Lucifer might produce could only mean trouble, but her eyes pulled downwards. She had to see what was next to her.

And Casey saw that Lucifer had given her a shiny, new razor. "Sam!" she screamed.

"Casey!" It was Dean's voice. 

"You're not Dean! Get the hell away from me! Sam killed you, get off of me, monster!" Hands were pressing her shoulders down and she squirmed, but Dean was stronger than her. How did she get into a laying down position? How was Dean alive? "Sam! Sammy, help me!" she cried. Casey pulled her knees up and shoved her feet forward, kicking Dean squarely in the chest and off of her. She scrambled to get off the bed (bed?) and was jolted when she saw she was back in the motel room. The door wasn't broken. Dean's eyes weren't black. What was going on? Her heart pounded in her chest as she surveyed the area. Dean was leaning against the wall opposite her, clutching his stomach. Sam was standing on the other side of the bed, holding his hands up to show that he meant her no harm. "Sammy, what's happening?" she panted.

"It's okay, Case. It's okay. You're okay and everything's alright," he said evenly.

Casey felt her eyes fill with tears and pulled her arms in tight around her. Everything was wrong. Dean was dead and where was Castiel and Lucifer? How was she back in the motel room? "What's going on, Sam?" She refused to look at Dean. After everything he'd said to her there was no way she could look at her brother. He'd hurt her.

"You tell us, honey. You were screaming and when Dean tried to wake you up you kicked him across the room. What is going on?" His words weren't accusatory, he held no malice in them. They were only trying to understand.

"Wake me up?" she repeated, confused. This wasn't making any sense.

"You were asleep then you started talking, then screaming for Sam. What the hell, kid?" Dean did not look like a happy camper, and Casey couldn't blame him. "You Kangaroo Jacked me across the room. Something's up." Even though he was pissed at her, he somehow still sounded concerned. That would be her brothers. She could nearly break one of their ribs and they'd still love her. They'd be pissed, but they'd still love her.

Casey considered what they were both saying, growing more and more horrified at what she'd done to Dean with each second of realization. "I was asleep?"

"Yeah."

"And you were just trying to wake me up?"

"Obviously it didn't work out too well, but yeah, I was," Dean said, bitterly.

"Oh my God...," she breathed, then launched herself at her brother. A surge of pain went through her chest when she noticed he'd flinched as she moved toward him, but he quickly relaxed into her hug. "I'm so sorry, D. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just- I just thought you...," she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. How was she supposed to tell him that she attacked him because she'd thought he was an undead, monster version of himself. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry." She pulled him in tighter, happy she didn't break any of his ribs. She'd kicked hard. 

Dean wrapped his arms around her back and set one hand on her hair as she continued to murmur apologies into his shirt. They stood like that for several minutes, Casey apologizing endlessly and Dean not saying anything, just holding her. When he could feel that she'd finally begun to slow down and relaxed, he guided her to the edge of the bed and sat down with her. She looked up at him sadly. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought we were still in my nightmare."

Dean shushed her. "I'm not gonna pretend like it didn't hurt, but it's okay. And we aren't in any nightmare or horror movie and I'm not evil. We're in a motel room on a hunt, just me and you and Sammy. And everything's okay."


	24. To Err is Human

To say Casey donkey-kicking Dean had intensified their dynamic was an understatement; both brothers had tried pulling the contents of her dream from her, but Casey changed the subject whenever they brought it up. "It was just a bad dream" apparently wasn't an acceptable answer. She'd tried "clowns and midgets" and "howler monkeys", but that didn't work either, so she stopped trying to make up believable fake dreams and moved on, much to Sam and Dean's annoyance. She could hear them whispering about her when her back was turned. She knew they'd told Castiel, even though she'd asked them not to. He'd starting texting her again, checking up on her to, supposedly, to ask how their hunt was going. 

Casey was stuck sitting in Baby while the boys were in a frat house that pounded with music. She knew that she was only fifteen, but what she'd gotten from movies and by questioning college kids so many times was that they didn't particularly care about the corruption of minors. The urge to go inside was intense. She'd repeatedly been touching the door handle, daring herself to go inside. She didn't even want to drink or rebel, especially after Dean had given her that shot of whiskey, but just wanted to be included. She was always stuck in the car while her brothers were out doing the fun part of any job. It wouldn't be a surprise if they asked her to stay in the car while they adventured to the sub basement without her. 

Focusing on her irritation, Casey almost missed noticing the drunken couple stumbling out of the house. The girl was tall and brunette and had a full chest and Casey felt a pang of jealousy. Because of her mother and the constant exercising (and the fact that she was merely fifteen, which she didn't seem to consider), Casey's bust was a bit smaller. She figured it was lacking some of what the college girl had, forcing envy to poke its head out of her heart before she managed to shove it back down. She pulled out the neck of her shirt and looked down. Everything looked the same as it had before and she groaned, then tried comforting herself with the fact that she knew she had amazing legs and that it was easier for her than Bigtits McGee to find a swimsuit top. It was a small consolation, but it made her feel better about herself. 

Then she realized, while watching the blatantly intoxicated girl hang around the man's neck and watching him sloppily kiss her, that they might be exactly who she was looking for. When they started stumbling down the street toward the sub, Casey started the car and pulled out her phone to call one of her brothers. Considering it was a college party with lonely women and free alcohol, she figured Dean would most likely be too preoccupied to pick up his phone. 

Sam answered on the second right. "Yeah?" She could hear the music pounding around him and a giggling girl ask him who she was talking to. Casey cringed at the shrill voice and at the thought of her Sammy with a girl. Sam excused himself from the girl, who then asked him to come back, but he didn't say anything else to her. Sam stepped onto the porch but didn't approach the car so he could still keep an eye on the happenings inside. 

"A couple just turned the corner. Pretty smashed, I might add. I'm gonna tail them and call you back if it looks like they're going in," she said shortly and hung up. She needed to get off the phone to follow them as soon as possible. Enough time had already been wasted by her jealous brooding. Her and Sam obviously knew it was illegal for her to be driving, but it was necessary and he knew she wouldn't drive like a doof.

She gave the couple a wide berth, knowing they'd be traveling slowly. The girl's shoes were already in her free hand, the other holding the boy's. His walking was far more unsteady than her's. A ball of anxiety tightened in Casey's stomach; these kids needed to go to bed. They shouldn't be out in their condition, especially his. Allowing them to walk into danger would be even worse. In a split second decision, Casey pulled up next to the couple and rolled down the window. "Hey," she said, not wanting to startle them. They didn't seem to notice her, absorbed in their own little blurred world, so she decided to speak a little louder. "Hey!" 

The girl shrieked and backed into the boy. When she saw who was driving the car, though, her body relaxed and she giggled. "Oh my Gooooodddd, you scared the crap out of me!" She tittered more, sounding disgustingly like the girl on the phone. Casey hated being underestimated. This chick didn't know that, without even looking in the trunk, Casey had already sub-consciously identified three ways she could kill her while keeping her man subdued. Casey was a force to be reckoned with, and being low balled pissed her off to no end. 

But she held her tongue. "Get in. I'm driving you home," she said, shortly. Trying to remember her manners so that she didn't sound like a kidnapper, she elaborated, "You two are in no condition to walk anywhere. You look like you're both about to pass out on the sidewalk, and I have a car. Get in." 

The boy glared at her, offended. "We are not. I can take care of my woman," he insisted. 

Heat flooded Casey's face. They were wearing on her quickly. "Really? Because it looks like your woman is holding half your weight right now," she snapped back. "So get in the car. 'Kay?"

The girl hesitated before speaking softly, "Come on, Kyle. She's right and my feet hurt." Kyle grunted but got in the car after the girl opened the door. She smiled at Casey, less annoying than she was before. "Thank you. We only live a few blocks away, but he's not going to last much longer, I think." Her voice was gentle, although it peaked awkwardly in several spots where her slurs hit hard, then she chuckled. A real laugh, not a flirty, piercing ring. "Honestly, I don't think I'm going to either." The girl eased back in the seat, allowing her boyfriend's head to sink into her lap, not even registering the fact that she was accepting a ride from a fifteen year old. 

Casey punched in the address the girl told her in the GPS and found that she truly was a few blocks away. She drove slowly, watching for drunk kids that should feel the need to run across the street, and soon heard light snoring from the backseat and smirked before her stomach hit the floor. 

She messed up the hunt. There could be a couple dying in the sub basement at the exact moment she was chauffeuring around a couple that was only drunk and probably not in mortal danger. Someone could be dying the exact second she was so sure she was helping, being a good person. Her "helping" could be the death of another couple. You're a disappointment. 

Casey stepped on the gas until she was ten miles over the speed limit, desperate to get them home. Once she read Birmingham Drive she slowed some to allow herself to skim the house numbers and braked hard once they'd hit 2319. In reality, she'd only wasted a couple minutes, but ghosts didn't need long to satisfy themselves. 

"Okay! We're here!" she barked, trying to cover her self-disgust by sounding especially chipper. The girl hiccuped awake and looked around, gathering herself before hitting her boyfriend lightly on the head. 

"Kyle!" she whisper-yelled. Kyle groaned. "Kyle, get up! We're home. We gotta get out of the car now, babe." Sleep slurred her words now alongside her drunkenness, practically making her impossible to understand. Kyle dragged himself off her lap and followed her out of the car. Kyle dumped himself onto the curb and curled against the girl's legs. She mumbled something to Kyle, who then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to produce a crumpled bill and handed it to her. She leaned back into Baby and for a moment Casey was convinced she was going to hurl, but she just gave a shrill "thank you!" and chucked the money in the front seat. Casey pulled away quickly, not bothering to check the unexpected tip, and parked in front of the sub basement and began to mumble quietly. 

"Castiel, please, please, please, get your celestial butt down here. Please, Cas. I really-."

"Casey, what's wrong?" 

Casey held her breath so she didn't scream. She knew if he did answer he would've shown up like that, but he still startled the crap out of her every time. "Jesus Christ, Cas," she breathed once she'd gathered herself again. 

"Are you okay?" He needed to know. Casey hadn't called him in weeks after hearing his conversation with Dean. He could admit that perhaps he'd gone about expressing his worry toward her in a less than favorable manner, but he wanted to make sure she knew that he didn't think her going on a hunt was a good idea yet. Seeing as she'd just prayed for him, he was becoming afraid that he'd been right and that it was too late to protect her from whatever damage the hunt might have caused. 

Casey's lip quivered, but she pushed down every negative emotion she was feeling. Cas couldn't see her cry. He'd tell her brothers and they'd make her go home. The hunt didn't mess her up and she wasn't too weak for it. She'd just made a mistake. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Castiel, I need you to check the sub basement of the Hamilton Hansen building and make sure nobody is down there, please." Her tone was clipped and professional. She didn't have time for him to waste on sorting out her emotions. 

Castiel hesitated before flitting away. It didn't take him more than two seconds before he reappeared. "Nobody is there. Now what's wrong?" He highly doubted that Casey had prayed for him to check a haunted basement, especially considering the intensity with which she began to gnaw on her lower lip. 

Casey didn't want to admit to Cas that she was a failure, yet again. It was relieving to hear that nobody was dead because of her, but if she'd done her job in the first place she wouldn't have needed to call Castiel. "That's what was wrong. I didn't want to go down there alone," she mumbled, knowing he would never accept that as an answer, but it was worth a shot.

"Why did you really call? How are you?" His tone was sincere enough that Casey felt guilt rush through her. He only wanted to make sure she was okay, he cared about her. Why couldn't she talk to him? Why shouldn't she?

Casey pursed her lips, unsure where to begin. "I kind of screwed up." The admission alone felt like too much was already said, but she had to continue. "I was supposed to be making sure nobody went into the sub basement. There's- there's this ghost, well, we think it's a ghost, down there that's killing couples who go to make out in it. And there was this party, people were drunk and making out and stuff. I was supposed to be watching but this boy, Kyle, and this girl, I never caught her name, were wandering and they were so drunk. So drunk, Cas. I couldn't let them go home, not like that. They were so... So I offered them a ride. I drove them home. Somebody could have died, Cas, and I was driving around drunk people. God, I'm so stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted to help but I could've caused so much damage. I could have caused death because I wanted to be a 'good person' but I went and screwed up again. I could have killed people, Castiel. Some kids could have died. How- I just- I can't believe- I'm such a freaking idiot!" Casey knew she was babbling, but the words couldn't stop pouring from her lips. She was a disappointment because she chopped herself to bits, she was a disappointment because she couldn't even hunt right, and now she was a disappointment because she wasn't going to cry in front of Cas, yet there she was, looking a fool while an angel of the Lord that should be defending Heaven listened to her spill her guts out. She set her head on the steering wheel, not bothering to cover her face and letting the tears leave spots on her jeans. 

"Cassandra, you must know that you aren't any of those things. You were being nice. Maybe you didn't choose the best time to be nice, but you were still being a good person. That doesn't make you an idiot," Castiel said calmly. There was no reason she couldn't trust him, but she knew herself, she knew her flaws. It didn't matter if nobody else saw them, they were still there. But there was no way nobody could see them because they were so glaringly obvious. It was like a bullseye on her back. 

"No, but they make me weak," she whispered, more to herself than to Cas, but he replied anyway.

"You told me yourself you weren't weak. I think the fact that you refrained from talking to me for so long proves that you're a woman of immense perseverance." Casey couldn't tell if he was attempting to joke or if he was stating the obvious. She had that issue a lot with him. "Caring for people doesn't make you weak. If that were so, your entire family would be the weakest group of people I've met. You can't believe that's true, knowing what yourself and your brothers have been through." 

Casey sniffed. He had a point. And her brothers had been helping people since they were little. Just because they cared about strangers. It was their job to care, and there was nothing weak about those two. Cas cared for all of humanity to the point where he'd fallen several times and even lost his grace for a while, and there was no way he could be considered weak. 

"How come I make so many mistakes though?" She sat up and looked at him, taking in his earnest and confused expression.

"'To err is human.' Even angels make mistakes," he reminded her. "All of these mistakes, they seem huge to you, but they aren't. It's not a huge mistake to exchange one good deed for another. You are not a despicable human for having issues with yourself that have given you immeasurable pain. You aren't stupid, or an idiot. And you aren't weak for having a soul and using it for love. That makes you impeccably strong."

Casey had no reason to mistrust Cas. Or Sam or Dean. Maybe it was time for her to take solace in that.


	25. Three Minutes? That's It?

Cas sat beside Casey with his hand awkwardly on her knee as she called Sam back and told him that she'd followed the couple home in case they changed their mind and went back towards the basement, and that she'd had to stop at a gas station nearby for "woman problems" which is what had taken her so long to call. She'd learned long ago that "woman problems" would cancel out any and all questions the boys might have had. As expected, Sam didn't say much.

"Did you, um, buy anything else?" Casey knew what he meant. He meant blades.

She sighed. It was understandable why he was worried, but sometimes it was exhausting. She did have some level of self control. "No, Sammy. I'm good."

She could hear the relief in his exhale. "Okay. Are you coming back soon, then? Nobody else has left in twos."

"Yeah, I'm just a block or two away. I'll be right there." Casey hung up without saying goodbye and looked at Cas. He smiled at her.

"How are you otherwise, Cassandra?" She'd never completely understood why he called her that, but since it was Cas she didn't mind. He never meant to irritate her by it, whereas Sam and Dean only did it when she was either in trouble or they wanted to annoy her. Casey didn't want to disclose how she was to Castiel though. Her brothers were always asking how she was. She always gave the same answer, that she was okay, unless she was truly struggling, in which case she'd come forward on her own terms.

But his face was so genuine, so pure. She reminded herself again that Cas had no malicious intentions towards her. No intention to hurt her or humiliate her or make her feel overall like crap. "It's pretty hard, Cas," she admitted. "I've relied on... it for so long. It's hard to let go. And I would never talk to anybody about it and it feels weird to try. Like, I know none of you are going to hurt me or use this against me, but it's been a secret for so long, you know?" Castiel nodded, although Casey wasn't entirely sure he'd had the experience before. It didn't matter either way, he was listening and that's what she appreciated. He wasn't trying to fix or heal her or make everything better, he was just listening. It was a nice change. "It's hard not having that relief anymore. The boys drink or get laid or go on a hunt, but I don't have those things. We haven't even gone on a hunt since I've had to let go. This one has barely even started. And I'm still having all these feelings and whatever about myself, but now I don't have anything to turn to. It's really hard." She looked at her lap, unable to look in his eyes anymore. It was more than she'd admitted to Dean or to Sam. The confession made her feel much smaller.

"You have us to turn to," Castiel pointed out.

Casey rolled her eyes. That statement was starting to sound like nails on a chalkboard. Obviously her little family was there and more than willing to talk to her. "I need something to myself, though, Cas. You guys say I'm not a burden, but I need to learn to take care of myself too," she explained.

He paused and thought for a moment. There were plenty of times in his long, long life he'd chosen to handle things on his own rather than ask his friends or brothers and sisters, even though it would have been easier for him. The feeling of getting something done on your own felt more rewarding, and he didn't like calling in favors unless he truly needed them. "I understand," said Cas finally. "I will figure out some ways for you to take care of yourself." He didn't understand Casey's mischievous grin at his statement, but decided to continue talking, assuming it was either a reference or a joke he wouldn't understand. "You should get back to Sam. I'll get back to you soon."

And with that, Castiel was gone. Casey smiled to herself. He was so pure. She keyed Baby's ignition and set back toward the house party.

As she drove by the Hamill Hansen building, where the infamous sub basement was, she saw her floppy haired, giant of a brother leaning against a spotlight, pretending to be occupied in his phone, but Casey knew he was keeping an eye out for sneaking students. Casey pulled up beside him, rolled down the window, and, in a deep and masculine voice, said, "Hey, miss, you looking for a good time?"

Sam looked up and raised his eyebrow. Casey smiled widely at his unamused look. "Took you long enough." He climbed in the passenger seat and shoved his phone back in his pocket. "People started leaving in packs, then a lot of trashed couples, so it was more efficient to stand out here and keep an eye on the door rather than thirty kids at a time."

"Where's Dean?"

"Where do you think?"

Casey grimaced. "Ick." Sam shrugged. "Should we leave him?"

"He'll call when he wants a ride, I'm sure. Or figure out his own way back. We should stay for a while longer in case any more come, but they've pretty much all cleared out by now." Sam and Casey swapped seats and talked in the car for nearly ten minutes when they saw a young pair slip past them, laughing and shushing each other, before rounding the corner of the Hamill Hansen building and disappearing. Casey looked at Sam, who sighed and pulled out his phone and began to dial Dean.

The phone was about to hit voicemail by the time Dean answered in a growl, "Somebody better be dying, Sammy." Casey made a face and Sam smirked, enjoying the fact that he'd interrupted his brother's latest extracurricular.

"Not yet, which is why we're calling. Case and I are heading in. Can you meet us in the basement?"

There was a silence, then the muffled whine of a girl, which made Casey want to die, before Dean said he'd be there in three minutes and hung up. Sam and Casey hopped out of the car and cranked open the trunk, then the hidden compartment. Looking into the trunk was like a breath of fresh air. She never knew that it could feel so good to look at a complete store of knives, machetes, guns, and holy water. Most people would be horrified, but it felt like stepping into a childhood home and seeing beloved objects she hadn't glimpsed in half a lifetime, even though it'd only been a couple weeks. Casey picked up a sawn off, admiring the familiar feel of the worn, well loved wood handle and enjoying the way the barrel was darkened with frequent use and age. She loaded it with a few heavy salt rounds and shoved some more in her pocket as a back up.

Sam was busy packing his own gun and had already shoved a canister of salt and a tire iron into his backpack. He looked at his baby sister, completely oblivious to him and relaxing in her own world. It was almost endearing the way she was looking at the old gun, if he ignored her history. She was cradling like it was her child and he might take it away at any second, and he honestly did want to. He was nervous seeing her with something so dangerous. Knowing that, at any second, she could point the barrel to herself and... Sam couldn't finish the thought. He refused to think of Casey like that. She was in pain, but she would never do that. She couldn't. He picked up a knife. Half the blade was serrated and the other half perfectly smooth. Casey's dagger was in the trunk, but he didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to letting her even see it again. God knew how often it'd hurt her. She could use one of Dean's old knives. He'd prefer she didn't use one at all, but she needed something to protect herself, and salt rounds wouldn't cut it against something that was actually corporeal.

"Casey," he started, pulling her attention into real life. She forced her eyes off the gun and looked at her brother, concern saturating his face as he held a knife in a beaten leather sheath. Sam swallowed dryly and looked up at his sister into her wide, green eyes. "Casey, I need this back when we're done here. But please be careful with it, alright? You can't hurt yourself again. Just... be safe, okay?"

It hurt her heart seeing Sam so worried. She'd never meant to hurt him. It was finally her chance to make it right. He was giving her a knife, he was giving her trust. Casey couldn't take that for granted. She was going to redeem herself to her big brothers.

"I'll be good, Sammy. I promise."

Dean rounded the corner to see Sammy passing Casey a knife and stopped mid-step. Could she handle that? Sam obviously thought so, and Casey had been more open with him than anyone else. And they would take it back at the end of the hunt, and he'd be damned if he left her alone for a single minute with a murderous ghost, so she'd hardly have the opportunity to slip up. Dean held his breath and began walking again, playing it cool.

"I thought you were supposed to be in the basement by now," he taunted.

Casey took the knife casually and tucked it in her waistband. "We had to wait for you to put some pants on. We figured it was manners. I knew your game was weak, but wow, Dean. Three minutes is all it takes? That's it?"

Dean put a palm on her head and lightly shoved it away. "Shaddup." Casey grinned at the familiar gesture, glad he wasn't dancing around her like she was some doll. He grabbed his own can of salt and jammed a regular handgun in his belt, filled another with rock salt and shut the trunk. "Are you guys ready for this?"

"We should probably hurry. They've already been down for a couple minutes." They rounded to the side of the building where they kids disappeared and tugged on a door, hardly expecting it to open. Sam pulled out his lock picking kit then paused. "What's the likelihood of this being an emergency exit?" he wondered out loud.

Casey shrugged. "Probably pretty high." He sighed and tucked the tools away.

"Hey," Dean called from the end of the building, motioning them over. He was standing over a basement window that was half opened and they could hear the voices of two young people a ways away from them. Casey made a gagging sound and Dean turned and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Sounds like they're really trying to catch themselves a ghost." She curled his lip at him. He slowly pulled the window out the rest of the way and turned to Casey. "You fit in that?" he whispered. Casey nodded. Dean considered for a second, then shook his head. "Nah, I don't want you going in alone. We'll find a different way."

"Dean!" she yelled, louder than intended and prompting a shhh from Sam. She ignored him mostly, but did speak a little lower. "Dean, I know I'm not that old or strong or whatever your holdup is, but I can sneak in, disable the alarm and let you guys in. It'll take two minutes, tops." Her brothers looked at each other and did their annoying eye-talking thing. She could tell they weren't entirely convinced. "You guys," she pulled their attention back, "we don't have time to find another plan. It sounds like they're already pretty far into things. We need to go." Dean huffed but motioned her in. She looked at Sam, who's eyes were worried but supportive, then climbed in.


	26. This is What We Do

The smell of mildew and dust hit her like a sack of potatoes and she coughed as she landed, legs bent, like a panther. She smiled to herself. The abrupt motion felt like she was breaking in her sea legs all over again, and it felt good. Casey had to remind herself to focus rather than indulge in her first hunt back. She could indulge later, she had horny co eds to save.

The basement was dark, but she was a hunter, which made her night vision spectacular. Even so, she still needed a flashlight. The one she used was dim so the sudden light didn't startle any spirits, but it lit the way perfectly. She was surrounded in furnaces and generators, most of which didn't seem to be operating anymore. There were folded up tables and several fridges that were still humming. It took a lot for her to ignore the urge to scavenge through them and locate the stairs. She was surprised that there wasn't a door to them, but also happy- it made her life much easier when she didn't have to pick a lock and worry about making noise while doing so. The hallway she entered was lined with doors. Offices, probably. The doors were too close together to be classrooms. She didn't take time to peer into them, it wasn't relevant. Wasn't of import, Cas would say. The thought made her snort. The hunt was making her giddy, smiling at jumping and laughing at her own jokes. It was almost embarrassing, but she was too happy to be embarrassed. The door Dean had pointed out was in the middle of the hallway. His assumption was right, it was an emergency exit door, and the alarm activated from a trigger in a box on top of the door. There weren't any chairs just laying around in the hallway for her to step on so it would be a little more difficult. She sent up a silent prayer to whoever, thanking them that she got Sam's height, and stood on her tiptoes to inspect the alarm.

It was the most vanilla door alarm she'd ever seen. The only thing tying it to the door was a duct taped wire fixed to the door with a gob of some putty. Casey sunk back down and pulled out her wallet and produced a credit card belonging to a Mrs. Janice Afonda, then perked back up on her toes and began scraping the gunk off slowly. The alarm obviously hadn't been checked in awhile because the fixative was drier than Crowley's weird British humor and took almost no force to shove off. Casey gently stuck it back to the wall so it wouldn't hit something and screw them all over, then opened the door.

It didn't take the boys more than a second to walk in and look her up and down. "Are you alright?" asked Dean.

Casey rolled her eyes. "No, I'm dead and I'm a ghost. Boo." Dean glared at her and walked past her. Sam made a point of staying by her side. He probably meant it for comfort, but it just made Casey feel smothered. She shifted her weight to her other hip to put a little more space in between them without being too obvious.

"Which way?" Dean asked. A piercing scream answered his question and he took off. Casey half expected to see his shadow left behind him like a cartoon, but didn't dwell on the image before cocking her gun and following him, Sam's footsteps falling right behind her's. Her blood was alive. This is it, she thought. This is what I'm meant to do. Saving people. Hunting things. It's the family business. And it feels good.

By the time Casey reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to what she assumed was the infamous sub basement was slamming shut. The screaming continued, then she heard a shot and a muffled "son of a bitch!" that she could only assume was her brother's. Casey looked at Sam and they ran to the door together. But as soon as Casey began to pull the door open, it yanked itself shut again. Casey's eyes widened. Dean was down there alone. He did have his salt gun and a crowbar, but protecting himself against a ghost was hard enough, and now he was protecting two other people as well. Two people who couldn't fight for themselves in the slightest.

"Dean! We're coming!" Casey yelled, hoping, but doubting, her words gave him some encouragement.

"Move," said Sam. It wasn't rude, but it was an order. Casey stepped aside and Sam reared back slightly, then kicked the door. A pained grunt followed when the door didn't open and Sam's knee slammed up towards his chest. Someone pounded up the stairs and banged on the door, the sound almost drowned out completely by another gun shot. The knob wiggled and it took Casey effort not to roll her eyes, as if they hadn't already tried the knob. The pointless act alerted her that the knocker wasn't Dean.

"Sam?" asked a girl's voice, hysterically and rushed.

Sam and Casey exchanged skeptical looks. "Who's this?"

The girl's voice trembled and slurred some as she spoke and Casey put together that it must have been one of the students who'd snuck down in the first place. "Uh, my name is Angela. That guy down there handed me this and told me to bring it to you." A pendant slid out from under the door, followed by one of Dean's zippos. She whimpered, "Please, get us out of here. I'm too young to d-die." Casey scooped up the items. The necklace was a simple golden chain, but instead of a pendant there was an engagement ring dangling from it, a small cross engraved beside the diamond. Casey pulled the ring closer to her face. Sure enough, inside the band was written 'my angel Maggie' in tight cursive letters. She handed the chain to her brother.

"It's Margaret's." Sam frowned and accepted the lighter in his other hand. Metal wasn't going to burn just like that, Casey realized. It took a lot of heat to melt something pure gold. She looked around the room while Sammy seemed absorbed in the ring until there was a yell and another shot from below. Finally, Casey located what she'd been looking for. "Sam, furnace!" She stood and ran toward it. It was perfect, exactly what they needed. It was old, black,covered in dust, and still had a door opening into the fire. There was a gas line attached to a much larger furnace beside it, but this old piece of junk was a site to be seen. Covering her fingers with the sleeve of her old leather jacket to prevent burning, Casey pulled open the door while Sam, pulling to a stop directly behind her, tossed the ring and chain into the fire. Casey flung a small amount of salt in the chamber for good measure, but all that could be done was to wait and hope that's what Margaret's spirit was still clinging to.

Sam knelt beside her. "It's not fair what happened to her, Sam," Casey said quietly. "She was the one who was wronged, and now she's spent decades angry and in the veil and finally had to have her spirit burned by strangers. It's screwed up."

"What we do is screwed up, Case," he replied simply.

There was an ominous screech that could only belong to something beyond human, followed seconds later by pounding up the stairs and ending with her brother opening the door and holding it for two battered, sweaty looking twenty year-olds following behind him. Dean's sawn off was dangling lazily from his left hand. He let the door swing shut and dropped the weapon, then grabbed his left shoulder and cringed. He looked at the kids and glared. "Next time they say something is haunted and people get murdered down there three times, why don't you just stay away?" he bit.

Angela clung to her boyfriend and nodded. "Y-yes, sir." Her boyfriend nodded vigorously and repeated her. Casey could see her hands shaking. Her face was pale white and the boy was shining with sweat and had pink lip gloss smeared across his neck. She finally looked at Dean rather than her toes, her eyes swapping back and forth between his. She took a deep breath and shoved away from her boyfriend to collapse against Dean. Dean caught her and pulled her up against his chest. He winced in pain, but didn't let go of the girl. She was sobbing against him, crying her thanks hysterically into his shirt and clinging to him for dear life.

Dean murmured comforting things to her and nodded at her boy toy, a silent male communication to signal that he wasn't trying to snag his girlfriend, Casey assumed. The boy nodded back and looked down at his toes. She could see the bitterness in his face, he wanted to play the hero to her, but he seemed to understand that she had no control over her shock at that moment. Dean wouldn't say it, but this was his favorite part of the job. There were nine million things about being a hunter that sucked, but knowing that he saved lives and seeing the product of that felt damn good. Even if it meant tears and snot on his shirt every now and then.

The girl's boyfriend stepped forward and Dean dropped his arms, patting her once on the shoulder. She turned to see his scared eyes and smiled sadly. "Allen." She walked slowly to him and hugged him.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking each of the Winchesters in the eye. His thank you was real and genuine. You could tell in his face, now pressed against and kissing Angela's hair, that he was grateful that they'd saved his girl mainly. They were so in love and Casey helped save that. She helped save a happy couple and keep light and love and a little less danger in the world. It was beautiful and Casey felt her heart swell with pride. This is what we do.


	27. Awesome.

Casey was asleep in the backseat and Dean was asleep shotgun, leaving Sam to drive. He was honestly glad to be mostly alone. He didn't sleep much in the bunker anymore knowing that Casey could be less than alright. If she could figure out such an obscure way to relapse once he knew, if she got desperate enough, she could figure it out again. Since he was awake at night, though, he should have alone time. The problem was, Dean also couldn't sleep at night for the same reason. They didn't want to have her have to sleep in the common areas or in one of their rooms because she would go crazy without some privacy, but the little she had was more stressful to the boys than they would ever tell her.

Dean and Sam had worked out shifts in the day to sleep, when she was forced to be out of her room already. They gave her space and would sit decently far from her if she wanted to be left alone, but not privacy. It was easy to tell when one of them needed a break. They already had their silent communication down, but Dean's tell was when he started to start speaking aggressively towards Sam. He would try and keep it to a minimum around Casey but she wasn't dumb. Sam would take her out to some book store or a movie or an actually decent restaurant so Dean could get his four hours, maybe more depending on if Casey wanted to be left alone after.

Sam's tell was, not so surprisingly, his hair. If he went more than seventy-two hours without sleep it would start to get out of place and wouldn't tuck behind his ears right anymore. Then his muttonchops would start growing out again and he wouldn't shave them until after he got sleep. It made him feel gross, but that way Dean knew he needed a break without him having to say anything. They would take short naps if she fell asleep on the couch or something, but woke up automatically after a few minutes because they'd be nervous. She'd passed all the body checks besides the one, and he was proud of that, but a big brother/father surrogate's job was never done.

Casey's steady stream of snoring was comforting and Dean's occasional snort was familiar. He didn't even ask Sam to drive, yet when Sam stuck out his hand for the keys he didn't argue. After getting his shoulder popped back in he was no mood to drive, a rarity, and Sam was. He needed something to focus on besides his own thoughts. Falling asleep in the car was never the same as legitimately sleeping and didn't leave anybody feeling refreshed, besides Casey, who could lay down in the back and almost fit comfortably. And although he wasn't nearly as into cars as his brother, he loved the consistent hum of the engine. Casey had learned how to drive when she was twelve and could parallel park like a champ by thirteen. Bobby had taught her in between cars that were so wrecked he had nothing to lose. He didn't like her driving, though. She was only fifteen. She should be carted around like every other kid her age. If she couldn't have a normal childhood she would have whatever similarities they were able to give her, even if she hated them. She'd hunted and killed dozens of monsters and even a couple people already, but she was still a kid. And if that meant he put up a porn block on the internet or made her keep her phone GPS on at all times, he would do it. And although Dean rolled his eyes at his archaic rules, he didn't dispute them and Sam knew he secretly liked them too and was just playing the good cop. Except the porn thing. He hated having to use data to watch his Japanese cartoon porn, but it was a sacrifice he put up with for her sake.

Dean twitched awake with a gasp and slammed his shoulder into the seat hard, making him wince silently, instinctively knowing his baby sister was still asleep. Sam was giving him a sideways look so he waved it off. He'd just woken up funny and Sam did it just as often as he did so he could take his look and shove it.

He slid into an upright position and looked behind him. Casey was asleep, her long hair covering her eyes from the light like she always put it at night. He always forgot how much she looked like Mom, but with darker hair and Sam's nose. He turned. "She been asleep the whole time?"

"Yeah. She's out, man. I'm glad. She needs more than four hours. Have you heard anything from Cas?"

Dean checked his phone. "He texted me before we left asking if she was acting normal. You?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. He asked if she was acting weird or depressed. He usually just asks if she's 'okay' so it was kind of weird, but so is Cas."

Sam didn't seem to find anything wrong with the texts, but Cas usually only texted one of them at a time. And he'd be willing to bet that they'd gotten texts at almost exactly the same time. "When did you get yours?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, around two, two thirty? Why?" Sam looked over at Dean, who was scrolling through his own phone with a tight brow. "Why?" he asked again. Dean was thinking something.

Cas was weird, but if he was going to text both of them he always left a little space in between. He'd wait an hour or so if he hadn't received a reply yet, not two minutes. And who asked if somebody was 'acting normal' or 'weird' if they hadn't been acting strangely before? Depressed was a little specific, but seeing Casey's state of mind as of late it made sense at least. "I think Cas knows something we don't." His brow furrowed even deeper. "Last I checked she was mad at him." He looked up at Sam. "She heard him say she wasn't ready for a hunt a couple weeks ago and hasn't talked to him since. You think he's watching her and saw her slip up or something?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was watching her, but she's been clean every time we've checked, Dean. And he would show up and tell us if she'd done something like that and he knew. Has she seemed weird to you?"

"Just excited to hunt. Maybe a little quiet sometimes, but not weird. You?"

"She seems bored, but I wouldn't go as far as to say she's acting depressed. She shows symptoms, obviously, but every time she's had problems lately she's come to one of us."

Dean turned around and saw the lump of her phone in her pocket and silently cursed. She would feel and wake up if somebody even breathed heavily on her skin, and probably wake up swinging like she'd been taught. There was no way he'd be able to sneak that from her. She would've covered her tracks anyway. If she needed Cas she would have prayed and left no trace of conversation. She was smart. She also would have told Cas to keep whatever she'd said away from her brother's ears. All three of the boys had agreed early on that keeping her trust was essential and if she said something should be private they would keep it that way unless it was serious, then it would be known by all of them but kept on the down low. If it was serious he would show up to tell them too, like Sam said. But it felt pretty damn serious to Dean now that he knew something was wrong. They couldn't ask Casey too specifically if something was up, but he supposed they could ask her if she'd been affected by the hunt. But which one of them should do it? She wouldn't answer honestly if it was both of them, it'd be too much pressure. She'd spent more time on the hunt with Sam than him. He knew all the details of how she'd acting during the eleventh hour while Dean was gone with knock off Jenna Jameson or getting his shoulder jacked up. But Dean was the one she'd confessed her relapse to. And he liked to think that he'd been getting better at hiding his anger about the situation.

"I'll text Cas back," he muttered, unable to think of an easier solution while she slept. It took him a minute to think of something significant enough to say, but he finally settled on 'What's wrong with her?' It let Cas know he knew something was up between the two of them and it got his point across easily. All business. He turned to Sam. "What do you wanna do about this?"

Sam focused his eyes harder on the road. "We did a body check last night and the deal was every other day. We don't want her to feel untrusted." He paused before painfully stating, "I guess we're gonna have to wait on Cas."

Dean sighed. "Awesome."


	28. The Ugly Ballerina

“Cas?”

“This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail.”

Casey sighed and hung up the phone. How many times could someone call before it was annoying? She supposed she would be irritated after two times, but Castiel was hardly the average Joe. Who knew what his limit was? It would be nice, though, if he could text her back, bare minimum.

Within the three weeks alone they’d done three salt and burns and taken down a small nest of vampires and killed a demon. Once again, Casey had everything she could want. She was saving lives and killing bad things in the process. What else was there to make her feel good about life? There was no way she wanted a family; she was too young and knew that it was an impossibility anyway, so she never bothered to even entertain the thought. The small family she did have, and loved immensely, was finally letting her act like a normal-ish person. She now had an allotted two hours -that must be separated- of alone time in her room per day, and steak knives for dinner if they were necessary. Still, though, there was that same ache in her chest that was all loneliness and pain. The inside of her skull almost felt like rats were clawing to get out, yet there was an invisible pressure on the outside of her head always crushing in. The sensations were so vivid she could almost really feel them, enough to the point where if they became too strong at night she would wake up one of her brothers to sleep on the couch in her room so she wasn’t alone.

Casey put her hands over her ears, squeezing her head so there wasn’t anymore pain. It was a poor substitute for cutting, but the pressure was almost enough to hold her until the feeling passed. Why was she so damn miserable? She had the best family, the best job, an amazing home, she helped people, and she was decently smart. What the hell was wrong with her?

Well, there was the fact that she was ugly. Her nose was huge and her eyes were the color of green olives with hardly any eyelashes. And her hair was scraggly and mouse colored, with every end split to pieces. Then there were her boobs, or lack thereof. It was damn near impossible to find a swimsuit she could hold up herself or to find a bra that didn’t have frog print or a little satin bow in the middle of it. She was freakishly tall, and positive that she was nowhere near finished growing. She was also annoying. She even annoyed herself, with all the babbling that never stopped in her own head. Then, to make matters worse, her babbling always seemed to flow out of her mouth and annoy everyone else around her too.

The worst part about all of everything, though, was that there was no end in sight. No finish line. No final product. It would always be fighting. She would always be fighting until one day she died. There would be no growing old and dying peacefully in her sleep. She would go out fighting, like they all did. It hurt to know that there wasn’t a break anywhere in sight- that her and her brothers and Cas would always be going and going and going until something finally killed them. Casey would have no happily ever after. None of them would. And even if all of the monsters in the world disappeared suddenly and the gates of Hell were closed and the angels finally got their crap together, she would still always be fighting. There would be no break. If it wasn’t monsters, it was the bull going on in her own head to throw fists against. Non-stop fighting. It was exhausting and she was supposed to do this for the rest of her life? She was supposed to keep on being miserable for no good reason until she finally croaked? How could anybody expect her to do that? That was no life for anybody to live. From nine years old to whenever she died she would always be battling against the sadness.

Casey drew her knees up and laid her her forehead against them, wrapping her arms around her legs feeling the sadness and devastation swirl in around her like a fish trapped in a tide pool. Crap. This is not ideal. She needed to tell somebody. She might not be self harming, but the way her thoughts were heading were starting to scare her. She’d thought about suicide before, but more as a novelty -something that she’d never actually do, but was nice to dream about- and not as a legitimate possibility. But there it was for real, dancing in her head like an ugly little ballerina. An escape from all of life’s big and little troubles that was right in front of her. She could almost reach it. The thought rubbed against her like a cat trying to gain affection and be pet, soft, but also deceiving. She knew this cat would claw.

But maybe she wanted to be clawed…

No. Not an option.

Casey gasped, pulling her head up into the fresh air. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Casey felt the edges of her lips pull down, tears began to sting in her eyes. This was crappy. It was really, really crappy. Casey leaned her head back and waited until the tears were gone. If Cas couldn’t talk, it was time to talk to her brothers, and if she approached them while crying from the beginning they would take away her alone time. She knew that if she didn’t talk about this while it was a fresh feeling, it would grow and fester until she couldn’t talk about it with anyone until something really bad happened. She refused to even think about what that something might be. It wasn’t going to happen, period.

Rolling with the momentum while she still had it, she swung her legs off the bed and hopped down, shutting her door behind her. She should stop and look in a mirror to make sure she didn’t look like the hysterical mess she felt like, but if she stopped anywhere she would stop for good and not talk about this. She kept walking, her fists balled up and brow tight while looking directly in front of her. To anybody else, she looked like she was getting ready for a fight. She was, of sorts. She was fighting with the sad part of her that was telling her to hush up and not bother anybody with her stupid problems. There was also the fight that was probably about to come with Sam and Dean. They would want to protect her from herself and go crazy with all their restrictions again and she couldn’t stand that. She would have to make an argument that made it clear that she was physically safe and they wouldn’t need to do that because it would make her feel like a freak again. They would also want to take away hunting, which was a big no-no. Sitting around the bunker idly would make her lose what was left of her mind. Everything would have to be phrased delicately. They might have thought she was fragile, but, when it came to her, those boys were touchier than porcelain dolls.

Casey walked into the library to see both the boys at the table, Sam on his laptop and Dean on a tablet. She had no idea what they were looking up, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She had to say this and she had to say it now.

Sam looked up at her entering and smiled at her, then looked at the clock. His face was surprised when he looked back. “Your hour isn’t over yet?” he pointed out, assuming she was confused about the time.

“Yeah, I know,” she said shortly, looking at the ground and clenching her fists tighter. This is not ideal.

Dean picked up on her tone and set down the tablet. “You wanna go out to eat or something?”

“No, I do not.”

“Casey?” Sam’s tone was cautious. She kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth. An unreasonable urge, but each word they said to her was making this even harder. It was forcing back another lie about being fine and okay that her brain was trying to push past her lips in order to protect itself.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Dean asked, his tone sincere. That little nickname of his, that term of endearment. It made her stomach melt. It made her feel loved.

Which is why she had to do this.

She looked up and into the eyes of each of her brothers, unsure of where to settle them. It didn’t matter. Both of them were good, and where she looked wouldn’t change either of their reactions. She squeezed her fists even tighter, her nails digging painfully into her palms. Here goes nothing.

“You guys, I’m suicidal. And it feels like crap.”


	29. That's Textbook, Sweetheart

Neither of them moved. Nothing moved, not even their eyelids. It was almost creepy, in a way. They were completely still and it was beginning to piss her off. She knew it’d only been maybe two seconds since she’d dropped that bomb on them, but she needed love, not Madame Tussaud’s. The building anxiety and tension in the room probably didn’t do too much to help her irritation either, though. It hurt knowing that she’d been brave enough to say what was truly bothering her, but her brothers couldn’t seem to find the balls to say anything at all.

Sam needed to say something. Casey was obviously waiting, and it was most likely hurting her that he and Dean hadn’t said anything yet since her confession. But… holy crap. That was a shock he hadn’t been expecting. And it disgusted him to know that he would have rather her come out and tell him she’d hurt herself again than have said that she was suicidal. Suicidal was a whole different ballpark, one that he didn’t have too much play time in, thankfully. But that meant he didn’t know what to do or say. This was foreign territory. It had been a long fifteen seconds though and he hadn’t even twitched a finger. He could see in her face that she was immediately regretting her decision to talk to them. He couldn’t blame her. They were sitting there, dead silent, like a couple of idiots. He had to say something.

“Did you- did you hurt yourself?” Dean asked cautiously, breaking the silence. Sam sent up a silent thank you that Dean had come to the rescue of this terribly awkward moment.

Casey shook her head. “No. I didn’t hurt myself. I’m clean.” Sam wanted to check her arms and legs, but he didn’t want her to feel as though she wasn’t trusted. He trusted her immensely even though, considering the circumstances and the current conversation, he was worried about her on a level that was almost nauseating. He elected not to check. The subject was too touchy and he didn’t want to push her away when she obviously needed to be kept close.

“Do you feel like you’re a danger to yourself?” Dean sounded like he was reading from a textbook and Sam wondered where he’d learned to ask these questions.

Casey folded in on herself, crossing her arms across her chest and pulling her shoulders tight. She looked at the floor. “No,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I don’t- I’m not.”

“What are you thinking right now?” Casey shrugged and hugged herself tightly. “Case Face?”

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

Sam could tell by her tone that she was close to crying. “Why are you scared, honey?” he piped in. He needed to make sure she knew that Dean wasn’t the only one who had her back. He was there too. She didn’t say anything and Sam realized that she was probably scared of them. That hurt, but he understood. She’d just made herself completely vulnerable, open to whatever judgement or condemnation they could throw at her. She knew that anything they said could tear her to pieces if they felt like it, and it was a scary feeling. “Case, we love you. We aren’t mad. You don’t need to be afraid of us.” Sam stood and pulled out the chair next to him. Casey hesitated and eyed the chair suspiciously, as though she wasn’t entirely sure she should continue with the conversation, but she sat in it stiffly a moment later.

“Sweetheart, why are you feeling this way, huh? What’s got you so down that you… that you’re feeling so bad?” Dean couldn’t bring himself to say that you want to kill yourself. Those words would not come out of his mouth. Not about his baby sister, no way no how. It might be how she was feeling, but he couldn’t think about the definition of the word ‘suicidal’ without wanting to throw up right now. Casey shrugged. She still wouldn’t look either of them in the eye and it was starting to bug him. She had these beautiful green eyes, and he wanted to see them and make sure she could see in his and Sammy’s faces that she was loved more than any other kid sister in the world. “That’s not an answer.”

Casey sighed and sunk deeper into the chair. She pulled her arms from around herself and set her hands on her lap. “I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“You aren’t taking a nap right now, Casey. We need to talk about this,” Sam insisted.

Casey shook her head. “No, not like that. I’m tired mentally. Not even tired; I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted mentally. I’m working and working and working so hard on being happy and I’m exhausted from it.” She’d just barely scraped the surface of what was wrong, but already she felt a million pounds lighter. Not like she was any less sad, but more like the pressure of holding on to the sadness was gone. Like her sad burden had been shared. She supposed it was a little selfish, but she needed to be selfish. She needed to take care of herself.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be happy. You don’t have to be anything. You just have to be here.”

“I know.” Casey finally looked up and into Dean’s face. His eyes were sad, but also fierce. He was in protective mode. He looked ready to fight anything for her. The intensity was almost funny, until she remembered that the ferocity was both for her and against her. She was split in two: the fighter and the flighter. Dean was ready to throw down against the flighter for the fighter in her. She felt an odd separation in her brain as the two parts of her made themselves more individual, stepping apart from each other and screaming at one another from opposite sides of her head. She pushed her elbows into her knees and rested her hands in her palms, partially because she was ashamed, but also so she could put pressure on her skull without looking like a lunatic. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m broken or something. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You aren’t broken, kiddo. Just hurting. You’re right, though. It does feel crappy, but we’re here for you and willing to do whatever you need,” Dean offered. He had no idea how to make somebody feel not-suicidal, but he knew that he wasn’t doing a great job. The best thing he knew that he could do was offer support and love.

Sam cleared his throat. Casey looked up. His expression was pained and she could tell he was about to say something that left a bad taste in his mouth. She grimaced and braced herself for whatever was coming. “Maybe…,” he began cautiously, “we should bring you to a professional?”

Casey slammed both her feet on the ground and stood up to tower over her brothers, quickly enough to where she would have gotten terrible head rush if she hadn’t just been thoroughly flushed in rage. “I am not seeing some head shrinker. I’m not crazy, so you can shove that idea right back where it came from and figure out another solution.”

Sam knew that there was a strong possibility of this happening, he only hoped that his suggestion hadn’t pushed her away from them. Even if she said no, this was still something they needed to continue talking about. “I don’t think you’re crazy, and seeing somebody doesn’t mean you’re crazy. A lot of people have therapists but that doesn’t mean something is messed up with them; it means that they have something that they need to work through.” Casey’s face was brilliantly red. He needed to de-escalate this fast. “Case, it was just a suggestion. We aren’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.” She finally exhaled. Her fists were still clenched and she was still obviously livid, but he could see the signs of her anger starting to cool down by tiny degrees. “You don’t have to. It’s just an option we can look at- if you want,” he added quickly.

Casey’s eyes had changed. They’d been shooting daggers at him before, but now they were panicked. She could see that she was at a bad point now in Sam’s eyes too. He thought she was nuts too. She looked at Dean, searching for anything that said he completely disagreed with Sam. His face was unreadable. A perfect mask of contemplation. When he looked back at her, he said something that left her feeling completely alone and betrayed: “It’s not a bad idea, actually. He has a point. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy. It just means that you might need a little extra boost to get through this. Even if it’s like an antidepressant or something. It could help a lot.”

Casey’s chest puffed up again. “I’m not depressed,” she hissed.

Dean, in all bluntness, snorted. “I beg to differ. You just told us you were feeling suicidal, that’s textbook, sweetheart.” His nonchalance was both infuriating and comforting. It pissed her off because he was acting like this was a normal suggestion, like they were talking about where to eat or what movie to see. But it was comforting because he wasn’t babying her. It let her know that while he might think she was depressed, a word that felt dirty even in her mind, he didn’t think she was freak. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe popping a pill every day for a little while ain’t such a bad thing.” He leaned toward her, all seriousness now with penetrating eyes. They made her feel small and cared for at the same time. “Depression is a chemical thing. If a stupid pill can help balance some of that out and make you feel better where’s the harm in that? What’s so wrong with taking that? Why do we take Tylenol or NyQuil?” Casey didn’t answer, she was busy looking at her shoes. “Why?”

She grumbled, “Because it makes you feel better.”

“Exactly! So what the hell is the difference?” Casey tried to think of an answer. The only difference was that this was in her brain and not her sinuses or ankle or some other thing. And it really did hurt… She shrugged. “Exactly.” Dean leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He looked over at Sam, who was looking at him in awe. “Sammy, wipe that look off your face and book us an appointment.”


	30. Sixty Mile Radius

Casey sat back in the chair and crossed her arms, pissed that Dean was right. She wished she was angry to the point where she didn't think he was at all, but she was painfully aware of the validity in his point. And, really, what harm would it be to her to just take a pill every day in an attempt to maybe feel a little bit better. Was that really such a bad thing? And why did it piss her off so much? Was it pride, or embarrassment that she couldn't force herself to feel better on her own? She tried to think about if one of her brothers was having this issue. As she pulled the idea closer, the protective part of her brain was ready to shove the image out again, but she forced herself to at least picture it enough to consider her own reaction.

If one them was hurting and couldn't get it better on their own, she would want to do anything she could to help them, even if they hated it. She would never judge Sam or Dean if they were to take a medication- but would encourage it if they thought it might help in the slightest. She understood where they were coming from, but having them gang up against her made her feel small, like a child who couldn't take care of herself, even though that wasn't what they were saying at all. She felt helpless. She was doing everything she could to feel better. She was talking to her brothers or Cas if she needed to, she was immersing herself in her hobbies when they weren't hunting, and eating rabbit food and drinking more water and less Red Bull. She started journaling, for Christ's sake. She was doing everything her or her family could think of that might help pull her out of this funk, yet here she was. In retrospect, she hadn't been working on it that long compared to how long she'd been struggling with it all, but her recent development into suicidality didn't say very good things about their 'home remedies'.

So she sat next to Dean, avoiding eye contact with both of the boys as Sammy searched on his laptop, presumably for a psychiatrist to dope her up and send her home. They were both waiting for her to say something, but there was nothing to say. She'd lost the battle. She was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. They day's admissions had drained her. Casey mumbled quietly, but loud enough so they could hear her, "Can I go to bed?" After a pause she added, "Please?"

She didn't have to look up to know that they were silently communicating with each other, and she knew that if she saw it taking place it would piss her off that much more. Their hesitation was understandable; their baby sister had just confessed to wanting to kill herself and now she wanted to go and be alone in her room. Those didn't seem like good circumstances to allow her solitude in, especially after she'd just gotten some modicum of it back.

But she had been upfront about her feelings. If she wanted to act on it right away, wouldn't she have kept it secret and not asked for help? But also she had asked for help. Was that her way of telling them she needed to be kept a closer eye on, even if it was a subconscious request? Sam's head spun. He wasn't usually the one to crave a stiff drink after something went awry, but he felt probably along the lines of what Dean was thinking too. There was so much to think about, and the silence was getting awkward. He noticed Casey's arms pull in tighter around herself, a clear sign of discomfort and vulnerability. She looked so tiny. He could remember her as a baby and visiting her at Bobby's until she was old enough to come with them. Her hair was almost as dark as John's then, but her eyes were still the same piercing green. He never would have guessed that this was where they would be fifteen years later.

Dean's face was unreadable. He didn't want to tell her no, but could he trust her enough to leave her alone? No, it wasn't a matter of trust necessarily, but more a question of faith. Did he have faith in God, and herself, to keep her safe? He decided he had just enough.

"Yes." Casey looked up, relief flooding her features. "But," he began, her face grew wary quickly. "The door has to be open and we're going to check on you randomly. You won't know when." He saw Casey's face grow sad, but accepting, as she looked back down. "Hey, kiddo," he waited for her to look back at him before he continued. "This is only to keep you safe, alright?" Casey nodded. Dean offered a comforting smile. "Alright. Get outta here, you look exhausted. You really do need a nap."

Casey weakly smiled back and looked at both of her brothers. "Thanks, guys."

"Love you, sweetheart," Sam said in response as she walked out of the room. The minute he heard her footsteps get far enough to silence he fixed Dean with a panicked glare. "What the hell, Dean? Do you really think that's the best move?"

Dean leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. "Sammy, I don't think there is a 'best move' in this case. I think this was the best I could come up with before it got weird."

"Of course it got weird! This isn't exactly an everyday conversation. Everything about it is weird."

"We were scaring her. She was scared. Couldn't you see that on her face? The kid is terrified, and that long ass pause wasn't helping. She risked every ounce of trust we've given her in the past two months by coming out here and telling us what's really up. Yeah, we obviously gotta backtrack on some of that trust, but if we take it all away again she's gonna feel like a freak." Dean removed his hands from his face and looked at his brother. "She's gonna feel alone, and we can't have that right now."

Sam considered what Dean was saying. He did have a point. "I guess we do walk past her room to get to either of ours." Dean nodded as Sam began to understand his compromise. "And random check-ins will give her enough awareness of being watched without being completely supervised." Sam sat with the idea. He was frustrated; he was usually the cooler one when it came to matters like this. He was usually the one who had more faith that everything would be okay and Dean was the one who went in guns blazing, and now he was the one who was willing to give Casey space enough to take a nap and Sam was the one bitching at Dean for not hovering enough. The role-reversal was uncomfortable. "How do you want to arrange these random check-ins? What's the time frame?"

Dean shrugged. "I figured we'd go whenever one of us got anxious to the point of being unable to stand not knowing if she's alright." Sam snorted a small laugh. Dean was glad to have pulled that out of his brother at least. He leaned forward and set his hands on his knees. "I don't know about you, but I need a drink. You?"

Sam sighed and turned back to his computer, glancing anxiously at the list of doctors within a sixty mile radius that might be able to help his sister, then looked back at his brother. "Yeah. Make it a double."


	31. Perky Tits

“Tell me about your family.”

“Oh, dear God.”

“Hmm?” Casey couldn’t remember the psychiatrist’s name, but she was pissing her off to no end, and she’d only been there for six minutes and forty-two seconds. The woman was blonde and chubby and was very pretty, with purple rimmed glasses covering obnoxiously peaceful blue eyes. And a nice chest, which Casey tried not to be bitter about.

“My family is small. I have two brothers, a kind of dad, and a brother/uncle dude,” she explained shortly. Her family had nothing to do with any of this. She wanted to tell the woman to just give her the pills so she could go, but she’d promised Sam and Dean she’d stay for the whole fifty minutes. They also told her that if she said to give her the pills and leave that the doctor would probably think she was a drug addict trying to score something and she’d end up walking out with nothing but a couple pamphlets with treatment facilities and Narcotics Anonymous meetings around town.

“A kind of dad and a brother/uncle? Would you care to explain those relationships to me?”

No, Casey thought, I do not care to, so don’t ask again otherwise I will gut you. “Bobby is the most fatherly figure in my life. An old family friend. He raised me until I was six, then I hit the road full time with my Dad and actual brothers, Sam and Dean. Dad died, so my brothers and Bobby took over. We met Castiel a few years back and he’s been a main part of our lives ever since. My brothers regard him as a brother, and I kind of do too, but he’s… much older than I am, so he’s also kind of like an uncle or something.” Casey had to select her words very carefully; if she didn’t, she might be prescribed a much stronger drug that wasn’t entirely accurate. Words like angels and eons older and traded his life with a demon to save Dean didn’t exactly bode well with medical professionals.

“What happened to your mother?”

Casey shrugged. She never really gave much thought to her mother. She figured it’d be nice to have one sometimes -asking the boys to grab her tampons would never not be a miserable experience- but it was never something she’d particularly yearned for. “I don’t have one. I was the product of a one-night stand and she was an alcoholic, so Dad took me away when I was a baby. From what I’ve gathered, she didn’t put up too much of a stink about it anyway,” she paused and grinned. “Plus Sammy’s hair is long enough to look like a woman.”

Whatshername smiled politely. “Does that bother you?”

“Not really. I love my family,” Casey said shortly.

“Was it hard losing your dad?”

Casey snorted. That was one of the dumbest questions she’d ever heard. “Obviously. He was my dad. He was a dick, but he was still my dad.”

“Do you feel as though that loss has contributed to your depression?”

Casey actually thought this question through. She loved John. He was definitely a pretty crappy father and borderline abusive a good chunk of the time, which probably didn’t do her mental health any favors. But she was so young when it happened that she’d pretty much come to terms with his death and forgiven him for what needed to be forgiven and remembered him for what should be remembered. Maybe her sense of worthlessness had stemmed from him always pushing and pushing her, but his death hadn’t screwed with her state of mind more than any other close death. “No… I do not think that. It sucked thoroughly, but I don’t think it jacked me up more than any other person.”

Blondie looked back at her notes. “You said earlier in this session that you feel depressed because you don’t feel ‘good enough’. Do you think that has anything to do with your family?”

“No,” Casey said firmly. She knew that John did have something to do with that, but she didn’t feel like opening that can of worms. “My family has always been loving and supportive. They’re the ones that convinced me to come here.”

“Are they the boys in the waiting room?” Blondie got that dreamy look in her eyes that people often got around her brothers that made Casey want to gag, but covered it up with her calm facade quickly.

“Yes.”

“They’re quite a bit older than you. What role do they play in your life?”

“I mean, they’ve raised me since I left Bobby’s. Dad wasn’t around a lot of the time, so I spent pretty much all of it with them. Dean’s fourteen years older than me and Sam is ten. They’re pretty good dudes.”

Madonna wrote something down quickly. “Are you a freshman or sophomore?”

It took Casey a minute to realize why she was asking such a dumb question, then she remembered that was the standard grade for a fifteen year-old. “Neither. I passed my GED like four months ago.” The woman’s eyes widened and Casey felt a brief sense of smugness. She liked knowing that she was extremely smart for her age. “Sam went to Stanford and helped me study for it. We’re always on the road so it was more convenient to do than actual high school.”

“That’s very impressive, especially since you’re so young. How do you feel about not having gone to high school?”

From such a big achievement, that was really all she got out of it? Casey fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I feel like I’ve missed out on the severe bullying that has caused many a teenage suicide and maybe I missed out on a boyfriend or something. It would be nice to have chick friends, but living on the road and having friends is an effort in futility, so I just don’t do it,” Casey explained.

“Why do you live on the road?”

“We’re traveling exterminators.” She wasn’t technically lying.

“Is that hard for you?”

“No. We have a home, we just spend a lot of time outside of it.”

“Tell me more about that.” Casey fought the urge to punch her.

The questions went round and round for another forty-five minutes until Lady Dr.Phil looked at the clock and skimmed through her notes, then said the magic words: “Well, it looks an awful lot like you could have major depressive disorder. I’d like to prescribe you a low dose of Zoloft. It won’t be enough to be therapeutic at first, just enough to make sure you don’t have any serious side effects. Do you think we could invite your guardian in to talk about this? We would only be talking about the medication, and seeing as you’re fifteen I am not legally allowed to give you any psychotropic medication without a parent or guardian’s consent.”

That annoyed Casey, but she did not just go through that interrogation to not get doped up. “We may as well invite both of them in,” she grumbled. She couldn’t remember which one was her technical guardian anyway. She opened the door and walked out into the Lysol scented hallway until she saw her brothers sitting in a couple chairs, Sam staring at his phone and Dean bouncing his leg and looking anxious. “Boys,” she barked. Their heads snapped up. She jerked her head, motioning them toward her. They got up without hesitation.

“Are you okay?”

“Is everything alright? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Stop asking questions and come on.” She guided them back into the office and they sat down stiffly, Sam beside her on the couch and Dean in a plush armchair. “This is Sam and this is Dean.” She noticed that stupid look on the doctor’s face again and fought the urge to gag. Casey noticed that she’d adjusted her bra to make her cleavage perkier while she’d been gone. She rolled her eyes. Thirsty much?

The doctor stood and shook both of their hands. “Hello, my name is Anne-Peggy Price. I’m a licensed psychiatrist. Cassandra and I have called you in here to explain the medication and the administration protocol for that.” She used an overly flirtatious voice, which, thankfully, didn’t seem to register with either of them. She noticed a look of relief made both of the boys’ shoulders relax some when they found out she was getting a med. “Casey seems to have a case of major depressive disorder with some anxiety, which is scary sounding, but the treatment and recovery rates are extremely high for both of these illnesses, which is why I’m prescribing a low dosage of Zoloft. For two weeks I’d like Cassandra to take half a pill in the morning and in the evening, not right before bed, though, as this often causes insomnia for some people when taken at night. After that time period I’d like her to take one full pill in the morning and a half pill in the evening, equalling seventy-five milligrams a day-,”

Sam cut her off, “Seventy-five milligrams? Isn’t that a lot?”

Price smiled softly. “Most people either take fifty to a hundred milligrams. I like to start my patients off at fifty, then bring them up to seventy-five to see if they can identify if the seventy-five is too strong. If that has no effect or too much effect it’s easier and faster to figure out which way the medication needs to be adjusted, or just switched out for a different one entirely,” she explained. It sounded like a stupid philosophy to Casey, but anything to get her on a functional dose faster sounded good to her. Price looked back to her. “This medication will take about a month or two for you to start noticing a difference. Be sure you take it with food, otherwise it may cause intense nausea, and take it at the same times each day to avoid dizziness.” She turned back to the brothers. “If any of you are noticing strange side effects -allergic reactions, fainting, excessive vomiting- bring her to an urgent care or an emergency room right away. These aren’t very common at all, but better safe than sorry. Some vomiting in the beginning isn’t much to worry about, but if it lasts longer than four days, bring it down to half a pill once a day. If that doesn’t subside within one more day, quit the medication entirely. If there’s still vomiting for whatever reason, a trip to the E.R. is probably wise.”

All three of them sat there absorbing her words for a moment. “Do any of you have any questions?” They were silent. “Alright. Just tell the receptionist which pharmacy you’d like the prescription to be filled at and it should be ready for you tomorrow morning. And, Cassandra, I’d like to see you back in three months and we can go from there.” She gave Casey a friendly smile, then turned to the boys and handed them each a business card. “And if you two have any questions at all, feel free to call me. Any time.” She gave them that gross flirty smile as they walked out and shut the door behind her.

Sam went to talk to the receptionist, leaving Dean and Casey to go to the waiting room and stand around awkwardly. “So,” Dean began, obviously uncomfortable. “How was it?”

Casey looked up at him and glared, thinking of all the pain in the ass questions she’d just had to answer. “Just shut up and make sure you pick up my drugs tomorrow.”

Dean grinned and saluted to her. “Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
